That Night
by lya404
Summary: This is an Andercest trilogy that begins with a night of angst and absolute terror, but wraps up in angst and absolute fluff. Each story marks a event that radically changes the relationship between the Anderson brothers while reaffirming their love.
1. That night

This was written in response to the following prompt on GKM: _Cooper is babysitting his little brother when two men break into their house and hold them hostage at gun point. One of the men gets bored and starts to touch Blaine, talking about how pretty and innocent he looks and threatening to rape him. Cooper offers himself instead of Blaine, but the men decide that either Cooper can fuck Blaine or they will. Cue Cooper feeling sick at having sex with his baby brother but still getting turned on and trying to make it good for Blaine, who cries and clings to Cooper the whole time._

It did not quite go according to prompt, but the warnings are real: INCEST, DUBCON/NONCON, ORAL, and BAREBACKING. Please don't read it any of that makes you uncomfortable.

Obviously, I do not own Glee.

* * *

><p>"Call us if you need anything!"<p>

"Yes mom. I am 22 – I think I can handle this." The Andersons have been leaving for over 45 minutes, the process continually delayed with reminders, "the emergency aid kit is in the bathroom," "don't forget to lock the door," and "if anything happens…"

Cooper leaned against the wall as he watched his father gently nudge his wife into a coat. He had been back from college for several days and had not yet adjusted to his mother's fretting. Blaine, who was exposed to daily dozes and developed immunity, sat in the living room, picking their entertainment-of-choice for the night as he scrolled through Netflix Instant Watch.

"Oh, and honey…"

"Mom! Blaine is 14! He is not a little kid, he does not technically even need a babysitter. We are going to be fine. Now, you go and enjoy the show, relax, order room service. When is the last time you had a night to yourselves? We are just going to watch some horrible action movie…

"Musical!" Blaine's voice rang through the hallway.

"Some horrible musical," Cooper amended with an indulgent smile, "and order pizza before we fall asleep on the couch."

Clarice Anderson seemed placated and accepted the handbag Cooper pushed into her hands. As the Andersons finally stepped onto their walkway, James mouthed an exaggerated "thank you" to his older son before closing the door.

The boys had the house to themselves.

* * *

><p>"Pizza?" Cooper knew they reached the point where they either ate or nodded off, and since he had so little time to spend with his younger brother as it was, he was not about to let their time together go to waste on snoozing.<p>

"Do places deliver at this hour?" Blaine yawned in the middle of a stretch. He reached to press pause in the middle of credits and looked over to check the time. "It's almost 11:00."

"Don't you worry your curly little head over _that_. Just decide what toppings you want."

While Cooper ordered their midnight snacks, Blaine straightened out their make-shift fort in the living room. When they were kids and Cooper was entrusted to babysit a much younger Blaine, they used to build enormous castles out of pillows, couch cushions, duvets, and anything else they could lug into the living room. Blaine would hide in the middle of it all, giggling and calling out to Cooper, who would bravely trespass on the Mage's land, overcoming unimaginable obstacles to rescue him. Blaine would squirm and erupt in laughter over Cooper's narration ("Oh, the dreaded Carpet of Paisley Lava! But I have the Ottoman of Power – fear not, young Blaine, you shall be rescued!"). The game would usually end when Blaine ran out of patience and jumped through the pillows, sending the castle flying through the living room.

Looking into that same living room now, it struck Cooper that they recreated their game in preparation for Movie Night without even noticing it. Couch cushions on the floor, pillows propped up against hard edges of furniture, fluffy comforters spread out like picnic blankets. And Blaine, focused, mature, clam Blaine straightening it up.

For some reason, the sight shot pain through Cooper's heart. Blaine was 14. He shouldn't care about how tidy the damn living room was. He missed the little boy he used to rescue from pillow castles. As much as Cooper knew that all kids grow up, he couldn't help but think that Blaine's childhood had been too short. Looking at him fussing over pillow arrangements, his face scrunched up in concentration disproportional to the task at hand, lower lip caught in mid-bite, Blaine looked much like a little girl trying on her mom's shoes and make up; the hat of gel, the button-up shirt, that loose cardigan and look of quiet perseverance make him look adult…too adult. Like a boy trying to play a man, but not knowing quite how.

Blaine, at 14, knew all too well that life was hard and unfair. Just last year, Blaine spent a week withdrawn, startled by every sound, his eyes blown wide in perpetual fear. One night at dinner, his shaking hands could not guide his fork until he laid it with a clatter on the table and said "I'm gay."

Cooper loved his parents. He did. But he could not accept how they treated his baby brother. Blaine's confession led to a lot of "are you sure?"s and "it is just a phase"s. Cooper had never understood it – it was not as if they were particularly religious. And Blaine was their son! After his parents came to accept that Blaine _was_ sure, and it was _not_ a phase, the topic never came up again in conversation. No one ever told Blaine that being gay was wrong, but no one ever told him that is was fine either. That it didn't matter, that his family loved and supported him unconditionally, that the gender of his future soulmate was irrelevant. Well, Cooper tried to tell him that, but Blaine's defenses had already gone up. But it was never too late to try to break through them.

"You ever kissed anybody?"

"What!" Blaine was so taken aback by the sudden interest in his non-existent love-life, he nearly dropped a pillow. "What? No, of course not."

"No cute boy in Algebra? No Warbler with a voice as sweet as honey?" Cooper pressed on, partially in an effort to tell Blaine that he loved and accepted him exactly as he was, and partially to provoke that deep, dark blush spilling across his brother's cheekbones.

"No." Blaine muttered into the floor. He glanced up from under his thick eyelashes, "But there is a boy in French II."

Cooper couldn't help let out an elated laugh. He felt dizzy – Blaine trusted him. He let him in. He wasn't too late.

"So tell me all about him. What's he like? How did you meet?" a cheery ding-dong of the doorbell interrupted his train of thought. Must be the pizza. "Hold that thought."

Cooper rushed to the front door, high on the feeling of brotherly love and the sense of accomplishment at getting Blaine to open up.

Yanking the door open for the delivery, he asked "How much do I owe you?"

He stares down the barrel of a gun.

* * *

><p>"Shut up and walk back."<p>

Cooper can't speak. He can't breathe. His head is swimming. All he can hear is his mom's voice saying, "if anything happens". And Blaine. Blaine is inside. He is in the living room.

Cooper bumps into a side table and nearly knocks over the vase.

"Don't!" The growl seems all the more dangerous mumbled through the fabric of a black mask. Cooper deliriously thinks it looks like the mouth of a dementor in those Harry Potter movies he used to watch with Blaine. Blaine.

"Please, take whatever you want, just…" just what? Don't kill us? Don't hurt Blaine? Don't touch him? Don't see him, don't notice him, just don't be here.

"Keep walking, kid." There is another man. They are both huge, and that is all Cooper can process. He has no idea how witnesses give statements to the police. His heart is beating so fast, it pumps air instead of blood and his head is floating in pure terror. He has no idea what they are wearing, how tall they are, what shape is their face. All he knows is that they are monstrous. And his every step deeper into the house leads them to Blaine.

"Cooper? Is that the pizza?" his brother's sweet, boyish voice cuts through Cooper's haze. "Don't eat it all in the hallway!"

Suddenly, the gun that had been a foot away from his face is now pressed into the back of his head as one of the men turns him violently toward the living room and leans into his body. "Make a sound, and your brain will decorate the walls."

The men are calm. Their footsteps sure and even on the hardwood. The man behind Cooper breathes slow and deep into his neck, while the other gazes with benign interest into the house. He looks like a potential buyer who stepped into a new property on the market. Curious, calculating, and mildly approving.

They round a corner and there is no way to turn back. Blaine stands in the middle of a clean, neat living room. His eyes grow wide, his mouth gapes in a shuddered breath, and he take a useless, meaningless step back.

Cooper's eyes search and lock on Blaine's. Cooper knows that they will get through this, that he will get them through this. Blaine trusts him, and that trust is like a superpower. Cooper rescued him from pillow castles; he will rescue him from this too. With that thought comes a conviction – their victory is inevitable. All Cooper needs to do now is figure out how.

"Well, ain't he pretty." The deep, cooing voice of a predator shakes Cooper out of his fantasy. He had forgotten all about the men, the gun. Now he watches one of the monsters approach his brother. Heavy footsteps grow dim as he steps onto the carpet.

Blaine backs up, releasing a tortured whimper as his shins hit the edge of the coffee table. His eyes track the path of a heavy hand as it reaches towards his face. A shuddered breath, a choked cry, a single tear and the hand presses to his cheek. "Yes, very pretty."

"Please," Cooper can't. He can't watch, he can't move. It feels like every molecule of his body is hurdling forward, squeezing into the space between Blaine and that hand, that thumb gently stroking his face, and this sensation of movement keeps him rooted in place. "Please, don't."

A hard slap on his back bends him over and sends him several steps into the living room. "Just get over there," the man behind him sounds impatient and exasperated. Cooper stumbles forward, pulled towards Blaine, but stops short of reaching him. Does he grab Blaine? Wrap him tight, make him bullet-proof with his own body? Pull him low, hidden under a mountain of pillows and throws, as Cooper battles this new and untested danger?

"Can you focus? Tape 'em up and get to work. We are not here to look at the _pretty_." He sounds annoyed and mocking as he throws a roll of duck-tape at his partner. It's a good sign. Let them take what they want; just stop touching Blaine.

"Just look at him. Like a little angel." The man can't take his eyes off Blaine, even as he twirls the roll in his hands. The cold shine in his eyes matches the gleam off his gun – steely, deadly. When his eyes linger too long on Blaine's lips, his partner mutters, "should have known better than to take a fag on a job…" before he snatches the duck-take back and sets to work taping Blaine's hands and mouth.

Blaine's face is already tracked with tears. He can't seem to decide whether he should resist, making aborted attempts to press further away, fall back and disappear into thin air. He freezes once his eyes lock on Cooper's; in this glance, in their gaze, they are connected and not alone. Together, they will survive.

* * *

><p>The floor is hard and unyielding under his hipbones. The duck-tape stretches the skin of his face, contorts it into a deep grimace. The sticky glue keeps catching on the hairs of his wrists and that small, irrelevant pain keeps Cooper present. He can hear echoing footsteps radiating from the ceiling. The sound is a relief – it is a measure of distance between them and danger.<p>

Blaine hasn't moved since the men pushed him to his knees after binding his hands. His eyes grow distant with every passing moment. One of the men is still nearby; Cooper hears the sound of falling books as he tears through the library. The brothers sit, broken and twisted; their bindings pull on their shoulder-blades and yank at their hearts. They don't know that both are chanting the same silent prayer for the ground to swallow them.

A chime. The door-bell. Cooper's heart races – the pizza delivery. Blaine's eyes pull sharply into focus, darting from the hallway to Cooper. Their breath comes fast and hard as their minds race at the possibility of rescue.

Blaine screams.

Cooper can barely hear him. They are inches away, and he can barely make out the muffled sound oozing from behind the tape.

Ding-dong. Hard knocking. There is a gun in Blaine's face and cold hard eyes. "Shut…the fuck…up." It is a whisper. But Blaine has lost control. He screeches, tearing up his throat, gargling with fear- it is the sound of a heart breaking.

The man grabs his failing body as Blaine bucks and twists. The man is three times Blaine's weight, but Blaine is exponentially more desperate. Cooper breaks out of his stupor and throws himself onto the coffee table, sending it across the hardwood floor with a clatter.

Though the cacophony of noise, he hears the sound of a gun being cocked. His blown pupils register the sight of Blaine, gun to his head and struggling to breathe against a strong forearm.

The delivery boy is getting impatient, "Delivery! You ordered pizza!" the ringing of the bell echoing throughout the house. Cooper wills the guy at the door to keep knocking, to call the police, to morph into Superman and knock the door down. Please, please, please, just don't give up. But the knocks are getting louder and rarer. The delivery boy puffs out, "Fucking assholes," which no one inside can hear, before turning away.

The house grows quiet.

"What the fuck was that?"

"Didn't you hear? Pizza delivery."

The man from upstairs appears in the living room. He is no longer the same calm, collected man who took charge of Cooper at the doorway. Fear grips him. He looks crazed.

"This little fucker here wouldn't shut up, like I asked him. Now, didn't I ask nicely?" the man behind Blaine eases the pressure against his throat but keeps his arms wrapped around him. The gun that was pressed against his temple now makes slow strokes against his face. "But did you hear? He screamed so nicely."

The sound of his voice, a sickly, slimy caress against Blaine's curls, hits Cooper in the chest. They were going to rape him.

No.

No. As Cooper looks at his baby brother, his face red and wet, he sees him broken, violated, empty. They will ravage him. They will destroy him.

Without realizing it, Cooper starts to flail. His body spasms in protest. He is mindless and empty save for one thought – he cannot let them rape him.

Heavy boots land in front of his face. With a pull on his hair, a hand twists his face to stare at the dark mask of a monster. "You have something to say?"

Cooper feels no pain as the man tears off the tape, splitting his lip. "Me. Take me."

* * *

><p>In the silence, panting breaths wet Cooper's bleeding lip. All at once, both men let out boisterous, giddy laughter. "You hear that? This one is on offer!"<p>

An unexpected calm settles over Cooper. This is going to turn out alright, after all. He figured it out; he found the key to saving Blaine. The thought "I will be raped" sweeps relief into his aching muscles. When he meets Blaine horrified gaze, he radiates peace. Acceptance.

Blaine sees it, reads it in his eyes. Tears well behind his lashes and spill across his cheeks. He shakes his head in staccato jerks; he looks as if he shivers.

"No. Look at him." The man's face nuzzles into Blaine's neck. "You think a twenty year old hipster can replace this blushing virgin. He even smells clean."

"All you fags are fucking creeps. You wanna go back a pedophile? Even a damn cockslut like you wont be able to stand after they're through with you."

"Who says I am gonna go back?" The man's hand sweeps Blaine's curls out of his eyes and trails across his jaw before collapsing into his lap. His huge palm, grotesque and alien, settles on Blaine's crotch. "Just imagine, that babyish dick, soft little balls. Like Easter Eggs. And his tight, pink asshole." A deep inhale. "God, it would squeeze so good." With every word, he takes a breath of Blaine, and with every breath, he settles deeper into fantasy, eyes fluttering against the onset of arousal.

"As I said, fucking creeps." The partner is more on-task. "We're here for a job. And it ain't him."

"I can multitask." The man yanks Blaine's legs apart and drops him back onto the rug. Blaine squeals in terror, squeezing his thighs shut, worming further from the man, twisting to his side, every muscle contracting as if he could contract into himself. Only his eyes are wide. Wide and unseeing, staring into a nightmare and unable to look away. The man's mass envelops him, pinning him to the ground. Cooper watches his brother disappear beneath his weight.

"What about this one?" The man points to Cooper. "He is pretty. It's a goddamn pretty fucking family." He laughs at his joke, and Cooper's sluggish brain generates a thought: _I missed the punch-line_.

"What about him?" The man makes no effort to hide his annoyance. Fixing his partner a condescending glare he asks, "Why would I fuck his loose hole when I have an untouched angel in my arms?"

"No, he could fuck 'im."

Cooper holds in the urge to vomit before his mind registers the sentence. His body feels limp and useless. They…they want him…Blaine! His brother's molten amber eyes stare into his. They are full of light and life. A deep breath rockets through Cooper's body; his lungs burn from lack of air, the oxygen charring his throat. It's not the end. While there is life in those eyes, it is not the end.

* * *

><p>"His brother? Damn, and you call me a creep." The man rolls off Blaine and settles with his back against the couch. His position gives a clear view of his tented pants, and Cooper's mind flashes with an image of his cock, huge and grey, decaying but hard – nothing about his man is human. He digs around his pockets, looking perfectly at ease. Can rapists and pedophiles be comfortable? Do they feel like us, can they experience comfort? Cooper's delirium is interrupted by the click and swish of an ignited lighter. The man brings a cigarette to his mouth and takes a deep inhale of poison.<p>

"You know, that is a mighty fine idea. Two pretty boys, fucking for our pleasure." Another dose of nicotine. "Mighty fine idea. Sure would help with this little problem." He laughs as he palms himself through his pants, readjusting his monstrous length against the inseam. Flicking ashes onto the rug, he leans across to Blaine's taped mouth and rips off the gag. "What do you think, baby-boy? Would you like my" his points to his crotch, "or big brother's dick to rip your asshole?"

Blaine. His baby brother. The boy who loves musicals, sleeps with a stuffed dragon, and has a crush on a boy in French II. He looks lost. Bewildered. The area around his mouth is red from the duck-tape and his cheeks are swollen from salty tears. Dilated pupils consume the irises of his eyes just as terror consumes his body.

"Hey, sweetheart, did you hear me? I said, you want my cock or your big brother's?" the man nudges Blaine's shin with his boot.

"Cooper."

It is a whisper, a whimper. Cooper knows it has nothing to do with the question. Blaine is just trying to hold on, grasp at anything familiar that exists outside the scope of this demented night. But a part of him feels sick relief. They will not touch him. They will not hurt him. His mind still cannot process, "But I will."

"Well, that settles it. So it'll be a show." The man closest to Cooper grabs him below his arm and shoves him to his feet. They wobble, unstable and unsure. Cooper wants to think that they are unwilling to move forward, closer to the task of raping Blaine. But they stumble on.

"So this is how it's gonna to work. You fuck, you live." The man drops Cooper to his knees in front of Blaine. There are fresh tears in Cooper's eyes. "You don't…well, we already got what we came for. It's gonna be no sweat off my back to put a bullet in either one of you. Just keep your hands where we can see 'em." With that, he pulls a knife and cuts through Cooper's bindings. His hands settle at his sides. They feel leaden, as if they were already full of sin.

The man rolls Blaine to his side to cut the duck-tape. Blaine lunges into Cooper's chest, his body melting in Cooper's arm. He is bawling, slobbering into Cooper's shirt, fevered with relief. "I'm sorry! I am so sorry!" and Cooper cracks.

"No, shhhhh, no, don't say that. You've done nothing wrong. Nothing. You are so good. So brave. Stay with me, just stay with me." Cooper has said those same words a million times. When Blaine accidently broke a piano key and tried to hide it by gluing the piano shut. When he stole Cooper's fencing jacket and put a giant stain on it in pomegranate juice. When he cried himself to sleep the night he came out to their parents. Blaine never apologized – he crucified himself. The boy felt everything with his whole heart, and regret was no exception. Now, Blaine sobbed apologies because he did not know what else to say.

* * *

><p>The men sprawl across the couch. The one who had been touching Blaine all night extinguishes his cigarette against the couch before reaching to his zipper. Deftly, he pops the button and a sharp zzzzzzzz lets him reach into his pants. His boxers are already wet from sweat and arousal. The unleashed scent of musk, cloying and heavy, settles like slime. When he yanks his cock through the flap, Cooper feels betrayal. The cock is flesh and blood. It's human.<p>

"Let's get movin'" Cooper twists his head to see the other man already fisting a half-hard length of flesh.

A gasp from somewhere near his clavicle brings Cooper's attention back down to the small, clinging body wrapped around his chest. Blaine's eyes are blown, his breathing shaky. He had never seen another man's cock. Because he is 14, and he is a child, and what was Cooper thinking trying to convince his mother otherwise. Cooper lifts his hand to Blaine's face. The touch brings Blaine's eyes straight to Cooper's, and his face relaxes at the familiar sight. "Focus on me. They are not here. You are with me and we will get through this together." Blaine gives a jerky nod, and tries to smile. It looks tortured on a face so swollen.

"Let's go!" a boot lands on Cooper's side. They are impatient, and Cooper cannot let them take matters into their own hands. Bracing himself with a steadying hand on Blaine's right cheek, he leans in.

Blaine's breathing stutters. His lips part in surprise. But he does not lean back. On a long exhale that brushes against Cooper's lips, his rigid back gives way and he sways forward. Their lips touch.

Blaine's lips are coated with a sheen of salt. Cooper can taste it on his breath, can feel it clinging to his lips and bind them in a kiss. Blaine doesn't move, and somewhere in Cooper's mind he realizes that his brother does not know how. He breaks the kiss but does not move away. As he whispers, "Close your eyes and just keep breathing." Cooper's lips continuously brush past Blaine's. Cooper watches Blaine's eyelids droop until his eyelashes tangle before leaning in again. He sweeps his tongue across Blaine's lips, brushes away the salt, the tears, the pain. Unlike Blaine, he has kissed before, and he anticipates Blaine's grasping inhale. His tongue darts in, opening Blaine. They share a breath as Cooper pushes himself closer.

Blaine mouth is warm and moist. His teeth are sharp and even. As Cooper brushes against his tongue, it darts away, deeper into Blaine's mouth, away from contact. Blaine wills it to respond. He reaches out, unpracticed and unsure, until the very tip of his tongue bumps into Cooper's. The muscle is pulled too taunt and Cooper flashbacks to an image of Blaine at the age of two, when he explored the world through the tip of his tongue, dragging everything into his mouth, from toys to rocks. Banishing the thought, Cooper massages Blaine, coaxing him to relax. Their mouths meld, their lips stretch, and their noses bump as they move. The kiss deepens and takes shape. A helpless moan revibrates between them, and Cooper's eyes spring open to stare at Blaine. His baby brother moaned around his tongue. Blaine moaned into his first kiss.

A feeling sweeps through Cooper. He cannot name it, but it fills his heart. He has just taken Blaine's first kiss. He is the first man to make his brother moan, the first man to guide him on their tongue. He took that. And he is about to take so much more. A rattled gasp breaks their kiss and Cooper feels tears run down his face. Blaine's eyes drift open (so close, so big), before he blinks them clear. Cooper cannot control his breathing; it comes in gasps but brings no oxygen to his lungs. He feels the edge of panic, hysteria bubbling in his veins.

There is a warm and steady hand laid on his cheek. His brother's curls tickle his nose. There is a weight across his body and it is warm and heavy, like an anchor. It calms the panic. When his eyes focus and his muscles start to obey, his arms come to grasp at Blaine's back, one hand tangled in the wisps of hair at the base of his neck.

"It's OK. It is all going to be OK." Blaine voice pours into Cooper's ears. It's steady and assured. Cooper has to close his eyes.

Blaine pulls back. His eyes are lucid and completely calm as he reaches one hand to Cooper's shirt. And slowly pops the button.

* * *

><p>His hands are steady as he moves down Cooper's chest. He has the same look of concentration on his face – eyebrows draws, lip caught behind the row of teeth that Cooper's tongue now knows too well, that he had straightening out the cushions. Once the last button squeezes through its peg, Blaine's gaze dashes to Cooper's face. His hands hesitate for just a moment before reaching forward; his palms are dry and slightly cold as they trace Cooper's arms. Two fingers catch the hem of Cooper's cotton tee before they tremble. Blaine's forehead scrunches in frustration, his lips drawn tight as his jaw clenches. Cooper sees pure, raw will guide Blaine's hand onward. He fists the shirt until the fabric stretches and his hand turns white.<p>

A deep and heartfelt pride sweeps into Cooper as his face relaxes and he takes a breath. Blaine's a survivor. Even now, in this dark hell, he is himself. In a realm where consent is irrelevant and impossible to give or take, he finds a way to exercise free will. Cooper's hand envelops Blaine's and with a soft squeeze, Blaine's muscles release their hold. There is so much to say, "I love you," "I know what you are trying to do, and I am so proud," and "if only I could be so strong;" Cooper's eyes say it all.

Cooper lets Blaine's hand fall to his side and reaches to pull the undershirt across his body. It is time to step up. He grabs the hand hanging limply at Blaine's side and guides it slowly to his bare chest. The palm is flat, but still too small to cover his pectoral. When he lets go, Blaine presses into the muscle and begins to trace its lines. His fingers catch on a nipple that stiffened in the chill and his face lights up in wonder. When he raises his glance to meet Cooper's eyes, he has a smile curving the edges of his lips.

They meet half way, pressing their lips together in a sure and eager kiss. Blaine's mouth falls open in invitation that Cooper cannot wait to take. Their tongues retrace each together, no longer strangers but good friends. Blaine feels the cold before he processes the hands pushing at his shirt. He breaks the kiss long enough to lift his hands, but then he's back, pressing into Cooper's warmth and losing himself in his heat. When they both moan, neither pulls back.

Cooper helps Blaine into his lap. His hands trace Blaine' ribs beneath the smooth skin of his back, tread through the soft curls at his scalp, and let their bodies tangle. Blaine can't quite time his breathing and breaks away to gulp at air; his eyes are shut, his body vibrates. There is no stopping, not now, when they have gone so far. Cooper rocks Blaine back onto his palms, which cup Blaine's ass, and guides him to the floor. He presses desperate kisses into Blaine's neck, tonguing at the natural pool of his clavicle, keeps moving down his chest as Blaine twists and rolls into his hands. He hopes that it's enough, enough to overload Blaine's senses until he can get at his pants.

Rationally, he cannot be surprised to find Blaine hard under his hand. And yet his breath catches at the feel of him, hot and hard against the zipper. The boy is just a teen, of course he's hard, but Cooper can't help but rest his head on Blaine's chest in relief. He knows it doesn't make this right, but he is still grateful. His mouth sinks over Blaine's small, brown nipple just as his fingers quickly work his pants. Blaine's moan is slightly pained and strangled at every brush of his firm hand against his length. Since he can't do this twice, Cooper pushes both his pants and briefs in one long stroke. Now Blaine is bare.

As Cooper kneels over Blaine's body, his hungry eyes trace Blaine's jittery legs, protruding hipbones, fluttering abs and heaving chest. There is a tension in his body, a nervous energy that is part arousal part pure fear. It is the fear of young virgin, and Cooper helplessly feels a spike of molten heat as his body responds to this prostrated innocence. His hands fumble at the knot of his pant's drawstring. But now he is too shaky, the knot too tight. He can't will the tremor out of his hands and huffs a breath of frustration.

"Let me." Blaine rests against one elbow as he reaches for the knot. It slips easily under his sure fingers. The drawstring loose, the pants slip off Cooper's hips and his half-hard cock bounces slightly at the contractions of his nervous stomach. Blaine's eyes focus on its head before tracing its length down to the patch of stiff curls at its base. Shifting his weight, his hand comes forward to loosely wrap around Cooper's too-soft length. Kneeling over Blaine, Cooper can't forget how young he is, how small. He can't get hard. Despite the pounding of his heart, pumping arousal through his body, his mind keeps him limp.

Before Cooper can work himself into a panic, Blaine's grip grows strong as he looks up into Cooper's eyes. Taking permission from Cooper's gaze, he shifts his body closer, leaning in. His breath is warm and moist against the head and its length twitches in response. His fist steadies Cooper's cock as his mouth falls open and his lips rest at the slit. The inside of his lips is wet and moist. He's leaning in, but his jaw is still too tense; the edges of his teeth catch on the foreskin. Cooper winces with a short inhale and reaches a hand to Blaine's smooth jaw. Blaine quickly adjusts and lets his mouth fall open as he sinks deeper on Cooper's cock. He lets it rest against his tongue, discovering its texture and heady taste. On his way up, the cock grows turgid, and as he sinks again, it has a weight. The feeling of taking something into his body, something hot and heavy, makes him moan. It feels like conquest.

The soft vibration brings Cooper to full hardness. His hand lands on Blaine's temple as he pushes out of his mouth. Gripping the back of Blaine's head, he brings their lips together, tasting himself in their shared breath. Keeping Blaine pressed against him, Cooper braces on one arm to lay them down. His hands can't rest on Blaine's smooth skin. They keep moving, touching every crevice and unknown place. The curve of his ribs, the dip of his hips, the dimples at the base of his spine. When his hand grasps Blaine's cock, the boy arches high into his body, breaking the kiss to groan and roll his eyes. Cooper's hands are sure and practiced, the grip strong and strokes smooth. Seeing Blaine submitting to his touch, he is reminded of his responsibility. This boy is fresh and lost in new sensations. It's up to Cooper to bring him safely to the brink.

He knows what he must do, but the thought is so abhorrent that he takes a moment to steel his nerves. They need lube. But he must ask for it. He must break from Blaine long enough to recognize the men still sitting on the couch, to bring them into this with his request. He grips the back of Blaine head and pushes him against the hollow of his throat. He can't let Blaine watch, he can't remind him of why they are here. Wrapped in his arms, bathed in his heat, Blaine is protected.

"Lube."

"What?" The men have fallen into a fantasy of their own. It takes a moment for them to register what Cooper said.

"We need lube." He struggles to keep calm and presses Blaine's face closer, wraps him tighter.

One of the men gets to his feet as the other mutters "Just take 'im raw." Cooper hears the squealing of his teeth as his jaw clenches, but focuses on the sound of footsteps, light-switch, open drawers, moving trinkets, then silence. The man walks back and throws a bottle of body oil at Cooper's side. "That should work."

* * *

><p>It's lavender. His mom bought it when she ran out of moisturizer. He thinks that it's from Trader Joe's because he has a vague recollection of thinking that it was a strange find in a grocery store. His hand hovers over the cap but struggles to move forward. It is not hesitation, but confusion that stops him – lube bottles have caps that pop. Slowly, as if moving through molasses, his nerve endings fire the message to twist instead.<p>

The smell of lavender hits his nostrils. It smells like summer and his mom. The scent is so out-of-place, Cooper has to shake his head to clear it. Refocusing, he tips the bottle to test the oil; it is too thin over his fingers, but it is all they have. His face must register his disappointment because Blaine nods against his shoulder to catch his eyes. Cooper leans forward to place a chaste kiss against his lips "It's fine. We'll make it work."

He settles on his knees between Blaine's legs. In the absence of Cooper's heat around his body, Blaine shivers and his muscles tense. "Shhhhh…no. Relax. Lean back and close your eyes." Blaine gives a shaky nod and drops back from his propped elbows onto his back. Cooper can't see his face, but the long exhale signals Blaine's eyes falling shut.

The bottle is mostly full, but Cooper remembers that the oil is thin. It may take a while to stretch Blaine enough for penetration. And he is a virgin. _Damn_. Cooper pours a good handful of oil and coats his fingers. Nudging Blaine's thighs, he leans closer to Blaine's body and reaches out.

His fingers make contact with Blaine's skin right under his balls. The skin is smooth and soft, flushed rosy pink and drawn slightly tight. With each gentle stroke, he reaches lower until his fingers pass across the whorl of skin at Blaine's entrance. Here, the skin is tougher and the muscle under it clenched tight. There are tiny, prickly hairs around its edge. Cooper takes the time to stroke it, feeling out new groves and memorizing the path from Blaine's crack to his perineum. Pulling back long enough to cover his fingers in a new coat of oil, he retraces the same path his fingers have taken a dozen times, but on the upstroke stops at Blaine's entrance and pushes in.

Blaine's moan pierces though his haze and Cooper's eyes jump from the sight of his finger, knuckle deep in Blaine's asshole, up his body to his arched torso. As Blaine pushes his spine back to the ground, he pushed himself deeper on Cooper's finger until it penetrates to Cooper's wrist. He is tight, unbelievably tight. Cooper feels exhausted and overwhelmed, resting his forehead on Blaine's hip. They both pant and quiver. Slowly, Cooper retracts his finger until just his nail rubs against Blaine's skin, then pushes in. Too tight, more oil. Pull out, recoat, back in. His heart is hammering in his chest, his blood pumps in his ears, and his cock twitches at every spasm of Blaine's body against his finger. But they need more. Blaine is so tight that Cooper's brain short-circuits on the thought that he will push his cock into that heat. Adding a second finger is terrifying, and no amount of oil could make this painless. Blaine's right leg contacts and he braces his heel against the pain. With a hiss and a slight shudder, he straightens his leg and widens the spread of his hips.

Three fingers deep, Cooper is beginning to lose control. His hips stutter against Blaine's thighs, smearing pre-cum on his brother's skin. Blaine's moans now melt together into a harmony and his hips move in tandem with Cooper's hand. Cooper knows that it is time. The hole is still far tighter than he'd like. He knows that it will hurt, but no amount of prep is going to make it better; the muscle is resilient (stubborn) and continues to flutter in short contractions in an attempt to regain its previous shape.

Blaine makes the decision for him. His wrist stills as a warm hand catches him. Blaine is leaning against one elbow, his pupils blown and his lips red and swollen. He has been biting them to catch his groans. His eyes hold a gleam of crazed desperation. "Please. Cooper, please." The dam breaks.

Cooper surges forward to meet Blaine in a sloppy kiss. His hands fumble for the bottle of oil for one last dose. Running a careless hand to coat his cock, he brings the head to rest against Blaine's entrance. His cock retraces the path his fingers memorized; along the crack, against the hole, until the head bumps into the swell of Blaine's balls. On every upstroke he pushes the head against Blaine's hole, but it's too tight. The head slips out. He wraps a strong hand in a tight fist right at the edge of his foreskin and guides his cock with increasing pressure. The head catches on the rim of Blaine's hole and Cooper freezes. Readjusting his angle, he shifts the pressure down and incrementally, guardedly, breathlessly, presses in.

It is surreal.

Blaine's muscles contract and flutter, squeezing so tight, Cooper feels them squeeze the air out of his lungs. "Oh god" Blaine's groan brings Cooper's eyes back to his face. He's flushed, a beautiful dark stain splashing against his cheeks. His throat is exposed as he strains and Cooper watches it work to swallow down his moans. Burying his nose in the scent of Blaine's sweat, he traces the ridges of his neck, the taunt muscles, the pulsing vein. Pulling his hips back, then sinking in, Cooper lets out a strained and tortured sound into Blaine's skin.

Blaine can't hold still. Waves of sensation crash against his body. He feels new, scrubbed raw until every nerve ending is exposed and saturated with awareness. His body undulates, rolling his hips, wrapping his leg around Cooper's hip, guiding his hands in a frantic exploration of Cooper's back. His mind hears music – it is the pounding of his blood. He does not hear his moans, but feels the vibrations of his throat. He does not feel his sweat, but he revels in the slick ease of movement.

Cooper knows it's coming. Senses it in the quickening of Blaine's heart-rate (he can feel it through his chest, he can taste it on his lips) and the longer, tighter contractions against his cock. But still, he is not prepared when Blaine's back arches, shoulders pressed into the ground, his heels dug deep into the rug. His throat works through a scream and his muscles shake and shudder. His orgasm is complete – it races from his balls up to his spine, radiating across every nerve, and explodes behind his eyelids. It rattles him, rushing through him like an earthquake, and keeps him suspended, tense and coiled. The release – it's beautiful. His eyes burst open, his jaw stretched wide, and then there's silence, and a splash of cum.

* * *

><p>Stillness. Soft pants. Loose muscles, overworked and tired. Cooper cannot trust himself to move. He holds his body frozen, hanging on the edge of control and watches Blaine come down. His face is beautiful in rapture. Cooper traces his flushed cheeks and sharp jawline with a reverent hand. Letting his forehead fall on Blaine's shoulder, he starts to pull out.<p>

Blaine moves too quickly for his aching muscles. Strong legs wrap confidently around Cooper's hips. They press him close, push him in, and don't let go. Cooper searches Blaine's face for any sign of what to do. Blaine's face is calm and open under his gaze. He does not blink, holds Cooper's eyes with unspoken intent: _don't think, don't ask, don't speak, but do not stop._

The fierce determination in Blaine's eyes sets a hot flare through Cooper's veins. His hips push back against Blaine's legs, but then thrust back into his heat. Every time his hips pull away from Blaine's body, he pulls back farther, slips more of his cock out of Blaine's hole. His thrusts grow stronger, firmer, working his cock deep and powerful into Blaine's body. His moans catch in his throat and escape as strangled groans. Sweat drips from his wet curls to Blaine's trusting face. He feels his orgasm building at the base of his spine; his balls draw tight and slam against Blaine's skin in sharp slaps. His body moves easily into Blaine's. Faster, harder, deeper. A familiar sense of dread grips Cooper's heart; the orgasm hurls his body off a cliff. It is so strong, Cooper feels pain as every muscle tenses and his mind can't process the intense sensation. One thrust, one slap, and he buries himself as deep as he can go as he shoots cum into Blaine's accepting body.

* * *

><p>As Cooper pants into Blaine's skin and struggles to regain function, Blaine runs soothing strokes along his back. Blaine's legs unlock and slide down Cooper's thighs. They rest against the back of Cooper's shin and lightly trace ovals into the sweat.<p>

When Cooper feels strong enough to lift his body, he sees Blaine's face relaxed and peaceful. The boy is about to fall asleep. His breathing comes slow and deep as sweat cools on his brow. The sight is breathtaking and Cooper can't resist leaning in to press his lips to Blaine's curls.

Looking up, he sees the room is empty. There is drying cum on a blanket thrown over the edge of the couch and three cigarette stubs on the carpet. The house is oddly quiet. The air is fresh and cool – the door is open.

They cannot sleep here. Not in this room. His muscles groan and protest as he stumbles to his feet, but his body has new energy and purpose – he must get them upstairs. He fumbles back into his pants and ties a loose knot into the drawstring. Kneeling, he rolls Blaine into his hands and stands. Blaine curls into his side, wrapping one arm around his neck and burrowing his face into Cooper's shoulder. His breath tickles Cooper's skin, and Cooper feels a rush at the sensation. Blaine is alive. He's whole. He's in his arms. They made it through.

He walks around the couch, into the hallway, past a table with a vase that he had bumped early in the night. The doorway gapes into the crisp, black night until Cooper shoulders it shut. Moving slowly up the stairs, more for the sake of the sleeping boy in his arms than his aching muscles, he readjusts his hold to press Blaine closer to his chest. The rooms upstairs are overturned. Every door is open, and every room looks like a hurricane survivor. He walks to the second doorway on the right. Blaine's bedding is a mess and every inch of ground is covered with clothes and papers. Setting Blaine gently on the bed, he pulls some sheet music from under his head. Mindlessly, he grabs the first pair of pants he can find – they are sweats and slide easily over Blaine's hips. Climbing into Blaine's bed, he drags the comforter over their bodies. A deep exhaustion overtakes him. He feels Blaine press close and throw one arm over his chest. Closing his eyes, he falls asleep.

* * *

><p>A scream startles them awake. Sunlight streams into the room and Cooper hears the sound of birds chirping before thumping footsteps rush upstairs.<p>

Clarice Anderson tears through the house and throws the only closed door open. Air rushes into her lungs when she sees her boys in bed. A trembling hand presses into her lips as she cries out. James Anderson grips her shoulder in a painful squeeze, his eyes wide and mouth tense until Blaine lifts his head off Cooper's chest. Relief sweeps across his face. Clarice takes an uncertain step into the room before rushing across the floor to fall at the foot of the bed. She clutches at her boys, tears splashing down her cheek. She pulls away to look into their faces, presses her quivering hand into their cheeks - they are here, they are alive.

"Thank God! Oh, thank God you're alright."

Cooper's eyes catch Blaine's. There is a small smile playing on his face and a glimmer in his eyes, as if their shared experience were an inside joke. Cooper's eyes grow wide in amazement at Blaine's resilience. Pride and love tug at a corner of his lips and he returns Blaine's smirk.

"Yes, yes we are."


	2. Daybreak

This is the companion story to "That Night." It is less dark than the original story, but it is rather angsty and contains rather descriptive smut. Proceed with caution, though if you got through "That Night," you should be fine. As always, thank you so much for reading and leaving your reviews!

Still don't own Glee.

* * *

><p>The door shuts with a heavy click and seals Cooper in silence. His room is far too dark for 4pm, but then again, it always is. On first impression, Cooper had been pleased that his one and only window faced the green, lush forest behind the dorms; but in the past week, he has started to miss sunlight that got too tangled in the branches to warm his room.<p>

Reaching across his shoulder to wrestle the heavy bookbag onto his bed, Cooper can't help but notice the ache and tension of his muscles. Although it's been just five days since classes started (easily noted by the unusual neatness of his room), he feels exhausted. Deep in the pit of his stomach squirms the uneasy admission that his fatigue has nothing to do with school.

The past few weeks have wrung him dry.

The first days following that night were filled with questions, lies, and his mom's tears. By silent understanding, neither Cooper nor Blaine mentioned anything of what had happened. Their story was short and simple, "we fell asleep, they had come in, took what they wanted, and let us live." Their parents were far too happy to see them safe and whole to press on details. Sometimes, Cooper struggled with the nagging suspicion that they were wrong to lie. He still feels a stab of guilt when he remembers entering his living room in the early morning of the next day. Blaine was upstairs, comforting their parents with empty nonsense, but Cooper announced that food was the best comfort of all and went downstairs. The living room was one of the few untouched spaces of the house, nearly unmarked by the rampage that left all other rooms shaken. Cooper's gaze flickered in recognition of mom's lavender body oil; the bottle was overturned and nearly empty, with a small pool of liquid scent oozing into the rug. When he bent down to pick-up it up, his gaze caught sight of three dead cigarette stubs and a patch of flaky, drying cum on a soft blanket. His eyes jumped to the stairs. Before his mind had processed the decision to move, he had all three items in his hands and his legs moved quickly to the bathroom. The oil on the shelf, the stubs in the sink, and the blanket stuffed into the laundry, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Yes, he was _relieved_. It was that sense of grateful accomplishment at eluded suspicion, the one that hitches your breath and eases the grip on your heart when you see your lie believed. If he thought too much into it, nausea and a migraine would overwhelm his calm.

Life had moved on. What had been scattered put back in place, what had been broken, mended or replaced. The Anderson family threw itself into restoring normalcy, but not all things could be fixed with glue and nails.

Cooper was worried. That morning, Blaine had come downstairs after a shower with a soft smile and a gentle ease about his face. There was no trace of tension in his body; the languid motions of his muscles were those of a satiated lover. Cooper searched for a trace of the fourteen year old boy inside his brother.

"Blueberry pancakes? I call dibs" and there it was. Blaine's face lit up and eyes shone with a simple joy of having blueberry pancakes on a Sunday morning. "I'll mix the batter if you take the stove."

* * *

><p>As much as Cooper wanted to believe that Blaine was going to be alright, he knew that Blaine simply couldn't be. Not completely. In unguarded moments, when Blaine thought no one was watching, Cooper saw his brother's mind wander and a shadow cross his face. Sometimes, Blaine's breath would come fast and shallow; his eyes would grow and start to mist. But other times, his fingers ran gentle circles over his mouth, his cheek, his neck, and a soft, sweet, knowing smile would settle into his lips. Cooper would watch his brother retrace the paths his own lips burned into Blaine's skin, and in a place deep in his mind, he'd wonder how low, how far down Blaine's body his fingers roamed in memory of Cooper's touch.<p>

In almost every way, the brothers' love and lives came out unchanged. Just as before, Cooper would greet Blaine every morning with a cup of steaming hot chocolate, and Blaine would turn the radio to Cooper's favorite station in the car. They blasted music in Blaine's room, jumping on beds and couches and starting pillow fights until their stomachs ached from laughing. Cooper would help Blaine with his summer homework and doodle inappropriate pictures that Blaine would love but have to white-out. Sometimes, it felt like nothing changed. But then there were moments...when their hands would brush, or their eyes would catch, or their hugs turned far too warm. Cooper knew that there was something dangerous and overwhelming brewing between them. And he saw that Blaine knew it too.

They had always been well attuned to each other. But now, there was a new awareness, as if they had developed a new sense. It was addicting, the realization that he knew Blaine better than anyone. He got a rush every time he read Blaine's thought with a simple glance or shared his whole heart though a single gesture. It was such a high that a part of him grew to crave it; he needed to be close to Blaine, to let their ability to sense each other roam through his body. It got worse as the day of his departure grew near. He saw that Blaine marked "August 28" on his wall calendar – they both grew anxious as the day approached.

Cooper tried putting distance between them. He hoped that it would ease the pain of separation when it came. Plus, whenever his treacherous mind would remind him of the cause behind his new closeness with Blaine, he would drown in guilt. Blaine was fourteen. And a victim of trauma that borders on sexual assault. Of course he would cling to Cooper, the man who took his first kiss, first moans, first withering, twisting, coiling orgasm. It was up to Cooper to help Blaine through this. But the fact that no-one knew what happened, that they both had lied for weeks to make sure no-one knew, made Cooper's job more difficult and more important. There was no one but him to give Blaine their support.

One night, he let this responsibility settle into his bones and guide him to a webpage on sexual trauma. He tried to will himself to read victim testimonies and the list of symptoms, but within minutes his heart started to race and sweat beaded on his brow. He shut his laptop and pushed back from the desk. _Blaine was not like that_. It was too much, too terrible. Was that what happened? Is that how Blaine felt? His brother's face, contorted in painful pleasure, lips red and swollen from bites and kisses, body squirming and bucking to relieve the coiling tension of release, swam behind Cooper's lids. How could that be what they described? He needed water.

On his way into the kitchen for some ice, he heard the squeaking of the laundry room door. Thinking he would lend him mom a hand, he walked in and froze. It was Blaine. He was disheveled, his curls were wet and sticking to his face. A deep flush bronzed his skin and his thin boxers clung to his thighs. When he heard Cooper come through the door, Blaine jumped to hide something behind his back. It was his fitted sheet. Looking so guilty and upset, Blaine avoided Cooper's eyes and bore a hole into the floor with his twisting toe.

"You were a teenager." He mumbled in defense. "Once."

"Yes, I am ancient now. Lucky for you, with age comes wisdom. And you put the wrong detergent in the wash."

Cooper walked over to correct Blaine's mistake before letting his brother hastily stuff the soiled sheet into the machine. On their way back upstairs, both holding cups of water, Blaine turned to Cooper with intent.

"Sometimes, it just overwhelms me. Now that I know what it feels like, my body just…" he gets too frustrated to continue. "Even in my dreams, it feels more real."

Cooper wrapped a hand around his shoulder and pulled Blaine close. "I know." They clung to one another, taking comfort in the familiar press of chest-to-chest. Blaine lay his head against Cooper's heart and let its thudding rhythm lull him to sleep. When Cooper settled Blaine back into bed, having replaced the bedding, he pressed a kiss into his curls and turned to leave. On his retreat, Blaine caught his hand.

"Just tonight. Just stay."

Snuggling deeper into the mattress and pulling Blaine rest across his body, Cooper knew that it was far from over. Whatever happened between him and Blaine was still alive and only growing stronger.

* * *

><p>He has homework, but it is Friday. With great conviction, Cooper mentally announces today "Lazy Internet Surfing That Ends Up in Porn" night. His grand plan has one flaw – it is the first Friday after summer vacation, which means that all his friends will want to celebrate their reunion by replacing blood with alcohol in every bar on the Ave. The thought sends a new wave of exhaustion to crash over Cooper. No, there is just no way he is leaving his room tonight. Since he still doesn't know his friends' new schedules (technically, he doesn't even remember his own), he forgoes texting in favor of shooting Lance a quick email: "Fucking dead tired. If I get smashed tonight, I may never wake up. Go on and wreak havoc without me." In minutes he receives a response, "Summer made you weak! And there is no havoc without you. Fine, be a pussy. But we are still on for Sunday practice, right? We need to get back in shape for the season. Enjoy your night in (don't sprain your wrist)!"<p>

Stepping away from his computer, Cooper starts changing out of his street clothes into something more comfortable. The process of pulling his shirt over his head transforms into a deep, full body stretch and a giant yawn. God, he is so tired.

He hasn't been sleeping very well. When he blabbed this tidbit to his mom during her regular check-in, she went very quiet and muttered something like, "Well, it is completely understandable. Given what you went through." Cooper knows that his parents have come to learn that they were somehow at fault for what happened that night. As if their leaving the boys had somehow provoked the attack on their home. Cooper thinks it is absolutely ridiculous and tried telling them that whenever they would share looks of mutual guilt. Therefore, he quickly retracted his complaint about lack of sleep, dismissing it as the by-product of university budget cuts and absolutely atrocious mattresses.

"Believe me mom, if I were sleeping on a Tempur-Pedic, I would be snoozing like a lamb."

Except the mattress has nothing to do with it. Unfortunately, neither does the attack. At least, not in the sense his mom had meant. At the age of 22, Cooper Anderson started having wet dreams. It started just over a week ago, and it was slowly driving him crazy. He thought surviving puberty entitled him to a reprieve from this embarrassment and frustration. As a matter of pure practicality, he only had so many sheets. He had never done so much laundry in his college life.

But the dreams keep coming, and he knows exactly what caused them. The incident occurred about two weeks ago. He avoided masturbating in his parents' house as a general rule; since moving out, he felt like a guest even in his own old bedroom. But he is a twenty-two-year -old man. So that night, he reached into his pants and drew his cock out beneath the sheets. He quickly fell into a familiar rhythm, tightened his fist and twisted his wrist with practiced ease. His cock swelled and his body started to respond to the stimulation, but it was not enough. He let his mind wander to latch on the nearest fantasy that could send him over the edge. When it hit him, the fantasy burned like acid through his veins.

Heat, tight and punishing, pressing on his cock; strong legs, steady on his hips; a body, small but firm, gliding on his chest from every thrust; a neck, tense tendons and a pulsing vein; a face, so familiar and so sweet, open to his gaze; those eyes wide and focused on their mutual pleasure; and a scent, of sweat and spring, and home. Cooper cried out and spilled across his fist.

When consciousness slammed back into his chest, he twisted off his bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He'd come. He came on memories of his brother's rape. Collapsing on the tiled floor, he let the nausea consume him. But he could not purge the sickness in him. Nothing came up, just rumbled through him.

He knew this could destroy them. They had survived the night, but at a price. Those hours were a world onto themselves – with different rules and different needs. To come out alive, and come out human. But now, what was imperative in those few hours was feeding hungry guilt and sick desire.

Blaine. He must feel this too. Cooper remembered the moment Blaine reached to strip him, the look of perfect self-control, face tight and jaw clenched shut, as his hands trembled at the hem of Cooper's shirt until Blaine's will stilled them. Blaine's mind can do amazing things – like will his body to act against him. The memory lit a certainty in Cooper's mind. Blaine wasn't alright. He was trapped. Trapped in his mind, forever stuck between the paradoxes of consent and rape, of pleasure and assault, of love and incest.

The urge to burst through Blaine's bedroom door, to grasp him, hold him tight, and force his mind open, propelled Cooper to his feet. Blaine needed to speak; he had to let the battle taking place in his head find an escape. And there was no one else but Cooper to hear him. On his way out the door, Cooper brushed the doorknob with his hand. The hand covered with cum. His cum. The cum he spilled on memories of Blaine's tight body. The thought stopped him dead. He couldn't move forward, walk to Blaine's bed in the dead of night – could he trust himself to lie in his brother's bed, hold him to his chest, run his hand through the curls he can remember plastered to his face with sweat?

It was a betrayal. Cooper knew Blaine needed him, but he did not come to help him. It was not safe. So he let distance build between them.

Since that night, he had not masturbated once. Just several nights later, he had his first wet dream.

The dreams are at once a better and worse alternative to active fantasy. Conscious fantasy is intentional, while dreams sweep over your mind under the guidance of some foreign power. The lack of control veils the dreams in some sense of blamelessness. Cooper cannot ever again experience the shame of chasing memories of Blaine's body to bring himself pleasure. This sense of avoided guilt is mediated by the fact that his dreams rock his body into chest-heaving, mind-reeling orgasms. Since he cannot consciously control the fantasy, he cannot stop it from morphing into a million ways of bringing Blaine to ecstasy. His nights are spent exploring Blaine's every crevice with his tongue and fingers, tasting even those parts of him that Cooper left untouched that night. Cooper has felt the arch of Blaine's foot, the solid weight of his shin, the muscular strength of his thighs, and the heavy length of his cock. In his sleeping hours, he drinks Blaine's sweat and cum, bathes his tongue on the dark flavor of his entrance. And every morning, he wakes to guilt and sticky bedding.

Tonight, the dreams will end. Cooper commits to watching so much porn, that nameless, faceless bodies will replace soft, dark curls and amber eyes.

Slipping into a pair of sweats and stripping down to his undershirt, Cooper collapses on his bed with his laptop and a pair of headphones. His feet register a tickling vibration – his phone is buzzing in the bag. Pulling it out, Cooper sees that it's a text from Ryan "Just talked to Lance. WTF you are not coming? Are you sick?" He fires off "Just don't want to see your face. See you Sunday." before setting his phone on silent. Ryan will not be the last to try to reach him; he will deal with all of them later, now he just needs some space.

Twirling his phone between his fingers, Cooper battles temptation to call Blaine. They haven't spoken all week, and the only communication between them has been four text messages, the last of which read "busy with school, will call on the weekend." Cooper hates his weakness. Blaine needs him, and he is not there. He swipes his fingers across the screen and reaches into his call log. He has to scroll for far too long to find Blaine's name. Hovering over the number, Cooper stalls. If he calls now, he knows Blaine's voice will echo in his dreams all night. Tearing hand off the screen, he throws the phone onto his nightstand and settles against his headboard.

Several hours and several weeks-worth of The Daily Show later, Cooper plucks the headphones off his head and stretches with a yawn. His muscles are so sore he starts to reconsider the mattress hypothesis. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's approaching midnight. Maybe his is tired enough to forgo the porn. The thought of wanking-off feels like a chore. He sets the laptop aside and rubs at his eyes.

The knock on his door is startling, but soft. The thought _who is it?_ does not have the time to flash through his mind before it is replaced with mild aggravation. His friends are so annoying. Probably piss-drunk and looking to drag him out for last-call. Opening his door with a rebuke hanging off his lips, he gasps.

It's Blaine.

* * *

><p>"Can I come in?"<p>

Blaine is soaking. His hair is plastered to his head and his shirt clings to his body. His windbreaker is so wet, it looks ten shades darker than it is. A sloshing sound announces that his shoes are just as drenched and a pool of water gathers in the carpet of the hallway. Cooper takes in the sight with mild horror.

"Get in here! What were you thinking! Take that off right now!" Cooper frantically tugs at Blaine's clothing, dropping the jacket in a corner before rushing to his drawers. "You must be freezing. What will I do if you get sick? Here, put this on." He grabs the warmest pair of pants he owns, fleece underpants he wears for skiing, and the fluffiest, thickest sweatshirt he can find. Throwing them at Blaine, he sees that even undressed, Blaine looks completely wet. "Wait," turning back to his closet, Cooper starts the search for towels.

Blaine stands and shivers in his boxers. His eyes trail Cooper; they are a little hesitant and guarded. There are a million reasons why he should not be here. Starting with the fact that he had no permission to come. His parents will kill him. He is probably grounded until the end of time. Blaine knew that sneaking out of his house to take a bus in the dead of night from Westerville to Columbus was one of stupidest and more reckless things he'd ever done. But he needed Cooper, and his every call had gone to voicemail.

"Aha! Here it is" Cooper resurfaces from his closet with a towel. Instead of handing it to Blaine, he wraps the towel around him and presses Blaine into his chest. Their hug is tight and a little desperate. It feels like Cooper is trying to push warmth back into Blaine. At first, Blaine's arms hang limply at his side until they come to clutch at Cooper's back. He takes a shuddered breath, letting Cooper's scent fill and calm him. With his head resting on Cooper's chest, Blaine's hands grip his brother's shirt and his breath keeps catching in his throat. He is so close to tears.

Cooper can sense his brother's tension, feels his chest heaving and hitching rattled breaths. Bringing a hand to ease into Blaine's curls he leans back and looks into Blaine's face. The wetness of the rain had masked the trails of tears that left his face a little red and swollen.

"Hey, there is no need for that. You are here. You're safe."_ You are with me_. "Here, put this on and we will get you warm."

Shuffling and hopping on one foot, Blaine quickly wiggles into Cooper's clothes, looking all the smaller and younger in the way their drape his tiny body. When he is done rubbing the towel into his hair, Blaine looks all the more adorable with his curls tightly twisted on his head.

"I take it mom and dad will be surprised to find you missing." Blaine blushes and looks charmingly sheepish. Avoiding Cooper's eye, he traces patterns on the bedding.

"I really needed to see you."

"Then it's a good thing that you came." Blaine's eyes dash to Cooper's. He had been so scared that Cooper would just kick him out. He knew that Cooper wouldn't, but a kernel of doubt, which grew stronger with every call that went unanswered, fed his fear.

"Thank you."

"Don't be an idiot. You are always welcome. Next time, just call me – I would have picked you up."

"I tried. My calls just went to voicemail." Cooper grabs his phone off the side-table – twelve unheard messages.

"Fuck, Blaine, I am so sorry! It was on silent cause…oh fuck it!" Cooper pulls him in. There is no need for explanations. "I am sorry. And not just for tonight. I know I should have been there more. That I still should be. I just don't always know how." He mumbles into Blaine's ear.

"It's OK. You are here now."

* * *

><p>"Blaine's with me. He is alright. Do not come get him. We will call tomorrow and figure out how to get him home. Love, C."<p>

After a quick message to their parents, Cooper refocuses all of his attention on Blaine. He quickly folds his wet clothes and sets the sneakers by the radiator to dry. Moving across the room, Blaine occasionally trips on the long hem of his borrowed sweatpants, pulling them down on every second step. Puffs of exasperation mark every time he has to wiggle them back over his hips. Cooper leans into the wall to watch him, an adoring smile gracing his face.

"Hey, come here." Cooper interrupts Blaine's feeble attempts to straighten up. As Blaine shuffles forward, Cooper holds out his hands. "What's going on? You didn't risk our parents' wrath to tidy up my room."

"Sorry, nervous habit." Blaine's mumbling tickles his neck. "All night, I was just trying to get here. I couldn't hold still – I needed to see you. And on that bus, every minute just fed this sense of urgency. I think I was so desperate, I forgot to fear the punishment, the risk of failure. But now that I am here, and you're here, I wish I had more time to think. There is so much I want to say and need to hear. But never did I think I would have no idea how to begin."

Cooper can see Blaine's frustration. They both don't want to mess this up. Cooper knows that by the end of this night, they will both say so much, reveal so much; they'll cry, and trust, and love, and fear. For months, they have held in many thoughts and feelings that tonight will spill between them. It is the anticipation of this release, of doubts and lies and unspoken truths that settles Cooper's nerves with a preemptive calm.

"Let me get us some tea. Just get on the bed and let your thoughts slow down." With a final kiss into his curls, Cooper pushes Blaine toward the headboard and reaches for his "pantry" - it is the deepest shelf in his desk, where a stack on Top Ramen and some chips is nearly overshadowed by a stash of teas. In little baggies and in tin cans, the tea is arranged a bit haphazardly by length of brewing – white, green, oolong and black (1-2 minutes for the first two and 2-3 minutes for the others). Cooper developed an addiction to tea once he discovered that coffee was a migraine trigger, and threw himself into discovering every possible tea combination that could drag him awake for morning lectures. By now, he had an impressive collection of teas for any occasion. Right now, they needed Moroccan Mint and a just enough chamomile.

When he turns back with two steaming mugs, Blaine is already on the bed, snuggled deep into Cooper's comforter and looking flushed but cozy. Setting the tea on his nightstand, Cooper crawls into his bed and pulls Blaine into his side. A silence settles on the room, so deep and thorough, Cooper imagines he can hear the steam rising off their mugs. Blaine's eyes focus on a snag into Cooper's shirt and his fingers start to twist around the loop of thread.

"How do you think they knew?"

"What?" Cooper momentarily thinks he must have dozed off and missed some part of the conversation. "Knew what?"

"The men. How did they know I am gay?"

"What!" He pushed Blaine off his chest and stares into his eyes with a new-found desperation. "What are you talking about? Why the hell would that matter?"

Blaine can't meet his eyes and his cheeks burn with humiliation. "They must have known. Why would they want to..." his voice dips into a whisper, "fuck me. If they didn't know. And that man called me pretty. Men are not pretty. So he must have known."

Cooper's mind reels with everything wrong with what Blaine just said. For a moment, he just gapes and tries to grapple with the idea that somehow this though lived in Blaine's head. That of all the thoughts eating away at him, this was the one that Blaine uttered first.

"Blaine, you _know _ that's not why that happened. It had nothing to do with anything you did, or anything about who you are. Those men were monsters. They just wanted to hurt you. He called you "pretty" because he was a twisted, ugly soul – a pedophile and complete creep. And you are beautiful, not as a sexual object and a toy, but as a beautiful amazing human being." Blaine twists out of his hands, but Cooper pulls him back in. "You are a man. In more senses than I could ever be. You are so brave, so head-strong. I may not say it enough, but I am unspeakably proud to be your brother. And the only reason I don't tell you that every day is because I am reminded of it every moment. What you just said, it breaks my heart. And you are so wrong. Nothing about what happened to you was any of your fault. And just as importantly, being gay makes you no less a man."

Blaine's eyes are misted with welling tears and his face is scrunched in pain. He stares at Cooper, lips trembling around a question. When it slips across his lips, he looks so helpless and yet hopeful, as if the answer could damn or free him.

"Then why did I come?"

The question breaks whatever walls that held Blaine up and he collapsed into Cooper's chest. Sobbing, Blaine twists his hands into Cooper's shirt and just holds on as misery and shame wrack his body. Cooper grabs his brother's body in a powerful squeeze, as if it could keep Blaine from bursting. Soon, Blaine starts to speak against hitching breaths and rattled sobs.

"I came. It felt so good. I felt complete and happy. You made me feel so safe. And now, I feel it in my dreams. That one time you caught me was not the first. And it is just getting worse. God, I must be such a pervert! Gay and coming every night on memories of his brother's fingers. I am so sorry, Cooper! I know you must want to forget this, and I am just reliving it each night. But I can't forget. And somehow, the fear and horror of that night can disappear if I focus on you. But when I do, I feel your kisses and the guilt! It fills my body and I am so ashamed!"

"God, Blaine. Shut up. You think I don't feel the same?" This stops Blaine dead. For the first time since he buried himself in Cooper's arms, he twists to look back at his brother. Cooper's gentle smirk and loving gaze ignite a hope in Blaine's eyes. "Why do you think I have tried to keep away? To give you space? It has been killing me, knowing that I am leaving to you to deal with all this shit. But every time I saw you, I would remember your taste, the feel of your body, slick with sweat. And yes, the guilt. It sounds familiar."

"And this might sound sick, but I am glad. Glad that you liked it. You have no idea how much that means. Blaine, I know how hard this must have been for you, but it has been hell for me too. Knowing that I took something from you that you can never get back. That it was forced, no matter how much you tried to give consent. So hearing you say that it brought you pleasure, that there was something about that night that brought you some joy, it means everything. You have no idea how much I worried, that it had hurt you, scarred you some way, or twisted your relationship with sex."

"Well, it might have done that! I mean, now all I can think about is you. That's pretty twisted." Blaine's soft laugh and teasing smile crumble the serious expression on Cooper's face.

"I will have you know there is nothing wrong with fantasizing about me. I hear I am quite the sex-god among men." It is shocking how quickly a conversation about rape and incest descends into their usual banter.

"Who told you that? The mirror?"

"Says the man stuffing his sheets into the washer at 2am."

This earns Cooper a beautiful dark blush across Blaine's cheeks. "Dork."

"Goof." Blaine gives him a wide, whole-hearted smile at the sound of his pet-name. The sight of this smile, spreading happiness and ease across his face, draws Cooper's eyes to Blaine's full lips. Blaine feels them break eye-contact and settle on his mouth. As if compelled by a mirroring reflex, Blaine's eyes are pulled to Cooper's parted lips, so lightly open that he can just make out the line where skin turns darker and more moist. Lost in memory of that mouth, its heat and flavor, Blaine recalls sharing breath after breath in cavern of their joined mouths, breathing each other and through each other. He remembers the weight of Cooper's tongue, and then the weight of Cooper's cock. His breath starts hitching as his heart starts to race. They are so close, he can smell the light scent of Cooper's body, now so familiar and so dear. How desperately he earns to breech the gap between them, to lean in and let Cooper's mouth take his! The fantasy is so strong, the memory so close to the surface, it takes Blaine a moment to register when Cooper's lips press into his own.

And then, it's like they never parted. The kiss is slow and gentle, so unlike the kisses that they had shared before. If earlier, they were spurred on by desperation, fear, and heady arousal, now they explored each other for the sake of mutual want. Blaine's eyelids fluttered as he moaned into Cooper's lips, letting his own fall open in invitation and a plea. As Cooper's tongue caress Blaine's in greeting, he felt a swell of warmth to crash over his heart. His hand reached up and wove into Cooper's hair, settling at his very root. The unexpected moan reverberated into Blaine's mouth and nearly surprised him into freezing. Never before had he felt Cooper moan into his mouth. It was an intoxicating sensation.

Cooper brings his arms to wind around Blaine's body, pulling him to lie flush to his chest. Heartbeat-to-heartbeat, they lie and breathe into each other. When their feet tangle under the sheet, Cooper pulls back with a broken yelp.

"Your feet! Jesus, they are freezing!" He looks so scandalized, Blaine can't help but giggle. "There is nothing to laugh about, Oh Chilled One. Hold up, let me get you some socks." Cooper climbs out of bed with a slight shiver at the abrupt exposure to cool air, and quickly returns with a pair of hideous argyle socks. "For that, you get Aunt Maggie's present."

* * *

><p>Once Blaine's toes are wiggling under the wooly pattern of lime and fuchsia, they settle back into bed with Cooper against the headboard and Blaine resting on his chest. He makes a point of weaving his feet in between Cooper's legs and resting them flat of Cooper's shins. When he glances back at Cooper, his eyes hold a mischievous glint and Cooper's face breaks into an adoring grin. "What a pest," he mumbles lightly before tugging's Blaine chin to bring their mouths together. This kiss is chaste and simple – there is no rush, they've got all night. He continues stoking through Blaine's curls, letting the soft brush of every twisted loop tickle the webs of his fingers. Their breath is deep and even, until their every inhale and exhale is a match. It seems that even their heartbeats synch in their chests.<p>

"It feels far too easy. You'd think it would be harder to fall in love with your big brother. But it wasn't." Blaine speaks with a deep calm, his voice sure and strong, as if the words are something he has told himself many times but never in this intonation. "I know that it is wrong, but most of me has forgotten why. I have loved you all my life. This feels no different, just more. I am not saying this very well, am I?" He turns to press a kiss into Cooper's shirt, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "When I started feeling this thing, growing in me, everyday growing bigger, and brighter, and heavier in my heart, I knew that it was love. And I knew that it was wrong. Looking at you, I would feel pulse with every heartbeat, bringing this wrong love to every cell in my body. And I would remind myself that you are my brother. That I couldn't let myself love you, that it would ruin everything. And I would doubt, whether it was just because you took care of me in a way no one ever had. Because we shared something I have never felt before."

Blaine pulls himself off Cooper's chest and turns to face him. "But with every day, as it would grow in me, it took me longer and longer to remember why it was wrong. Why you being my brother was more important than the fact that I loved you. And then this new love, new way of feeling about you, became completely fused with the way I have always loved you. That's what I mean – it is like it ever was, but just more, more complete and whole and pure. Like this love has no limits. And there is still some part of me that remembers that I shouldn't feel this way, but there is now _no part _of me that thinks it's wrong."

Cooper tries to will his heart back into beating. It froze when he heard the phrase "fall in love" and hasn't regained function. For weeks, he has tried so hard to not think, to bury the feelings bursting in his heart in some untouchable, unspeakable place and leave them nameless and unprocessed. Hearing Blaine speak brings down the barriers holding those thoughts contained and lets them flood him. As they sweep through him, feelings find names and thoughts latch onto memories and together weave fantasies for the future. Once the dust settles, Cooper is mildly surprised to find himself unchanged. Having worked so hard to keep these thoughts contained, he finds it curious that their release was entirely anti-climactic. He simply loves Blaine. He has always loved Blaine, and he loves him now. But more, now more than ever.

"You're right. It's just the same. Only with an extra dash of wanting to kiss you."

* * *

><p>Blaine's hand is heavy on Cooper's chest. His head rises and falls with every inhale. In this new silence, his ears buzz and his head is dizzy – so many thoughts that had been fluttering frantically for weeks now lay quiet and settled. It left him light-headed. Only the grounding heat from Cooper's body kept him anchored to this room.<p>

"Hey, you remember that night dad took us camping?" Blaine nods into Cooper's chest, but doesn't budge from his new favorite position, tucked under Cooper's arm. "They slept in the tent, but you wanted a real adventure. So we convinced mom and dad to let us roll the sleeping bags out on the grass. It was freezing and so uncomfortable, but you were so excited to sleep under the stars."

"And you told me stories about the constellations. About the scattered cereal blow and how the twins came down to breakfast, but there was only cereal left for one, so when they started to pull on the bowl, it shattered and slipped the stars across the sky." Blaine closes his eyes and sees the silhouettes of tall, dark trees stretching into the sky, where cereal kernels glisten against the backsplash of the night.

"Do you remember when we started to fall asleep and grew quiet - suddenly there was so much to hear. Like the entire forest had come alive after crouching in the corner, waiting for us to doze off. And we were too tired to think, and all we could do was let this whole world move around us. I feel the same way now. Like we've been thinking, and feeling, so much for so long that now with all these worries and this guilt silenced, we can open ourselves to something new and beautiful."

"Cooper?" Blaine rose on his elbow to look down into Cooper's face. "I love you."

Bringing a hand to the back of Blaine's head, Cooper pulls him forward close enough to mumble "I love you too" into Blaine's lips. Their kiss is deep, exploring. Cooper's lips envelop Blaine's, pulling them between his teeth and giving them a teasing nibble. When Blaine's full weight settles on Cooper's body, their kiss grows stronger, their tongues surer. There is strength to their muscles as they move into each other, diving closer into each other's heat. Blaine's helpless, pleading moans tease and provoke until Cooper's hands quit their mindless wandering over Blaine's back and settle on his ass. The muscle beneath his palm is taunt and full. Blaine's body jerks and melts when he sinks his fingers into the sides of Blaine's seat and pulls Blaine down against him.

"Oh, god!" Blaine tucks is face into Cooper's neck and catches several breaths. The cock pressing into Cooper's stomach is hard and aching. Grabbing Blaine's ass with great intention, Cooper pulls him down until Blaine's crack rests right against his inseam. He braces against the mattress with his feet to roll his hips, pressing his answering erection into Blaine.

"You're hard!" the surprise in Blaine's voice pulls Cooper from his haze.

"Of course I'm hard. Where have you been the past few minutes?"

"But…" Blaine's cheeks burst into flame and he averts his eyes. "It's just last time…you weren't. And I thought…"

"Stop. First of all, do me a favor and ban the phrase "last time" for the rest of the night. And of course I'm hard. You're hot! In case you haven't gathered, I am a bit inappropriately attracted to you. Damn, Blaine, don't you know you're beautiful? Give me your hand." Cooper grabs Blaine's wrist and interweaves their fingers. "You are beautiful, not because you make me hard, which you do, more frequently than I would care to mention. But because you make me love you so deeply and in so many ways, that I can't bear to keep my hands off you."

"Then don't." Pulling his hand out of Cooper's, Blaine twists the sweatshirt over his head and grins back at his brother. Cooper does the same with his own t-shirt and lays Blaine back against the pillows. His hands tremble slightly as he reaches for the edge of Blaine's pants, excitement and self-control warring in every muscle fiber. Sinking his fingers behind the elastic, he pulls down both the sweatpants and Blaine's boxers, which are still slightly damp from his time in the rain. With one decisive flourish, he rips the clothing from Blaine's body, leaving his brother naked and giggling at his antics.

"What do you think? Should we keep these on?" He traces the edges of the socks, grinning at Blaine's happy smile. "They are quite dashing. And we could rename them into Sex Socks, and then tell Aunt Maggie that her present has actively starred in many a sexual exploit. Just imagine her face at the next Family Dinner!"

Blaine shakes with laughter, adored and cared for under Cooper's hands. At last, the socks come of and Cooper presses a trail of kisses from Blaine's ankle and up his leg. When the final set of kisses dry against Blaine's hip, Cooper leans forward to trace Blaine's face with feather-light fingertips.

"Could you get the lube?" Blaine looks purely hopeful, his pupils blown and breathing shallow. His lips are already swollen from Cooper's bites and kisses. It looks so innocently filthy, Cooper has to take a fortifying breath before reaching across Blaine's body to the drawers. Tossing the bottle and a pack of condoms on the bed, he can't help but think, "at least we have lube this time." With a glance to Blaine, he registers the wicked smirk of his brother's face.

"I know I promised not to mention it again. But, I am just so happy it's not lavender."

* * *

><p>They revel in the freedom to touch, to taste, to suck and tease. Blaine's hands are eager and soft as they explore the planes of Cooper's back, digging the heel of his hand into the grove of Cooper's spine and running his fingers along the bumps of protruding ribs. Instinctively, he brings his legs to wrap around strong thighs and hook behind a jutting hip-bone. With new-found leverage, Blaine pulls himself up and into Cooper's heat, letting their groins press in luscious friction. Heat builds between them as their skin turns slick with sweat. Moans color the room in a shade of sex.<p>

When Cooper pulls out of a heated kiss, his mind racing and his breath moist and thick, Blaine follows him with a disgruntled groan.

"Jesus, Blaine. Wait, just wait a second." Cooper captures Blaine's hands and presses them into his side. Dropping his forehead on Blaine's shoulder, Cooper closes his eyes and tries to regain control of his rapid heartbeat. "You turn me on so much. Those sounds, the way you move. You are fucking irresistible." With a series of harsh kisses into Blaine's collar-bone, Cooper pulls out of his arms and climbs off the bed. Flicking off the light, he kneels at the foot of the bed and stalks across Blaine's body. His eyes are wild, glimmering with fantasy and intent. When he settles his weight between Blaine's legs, spreading them wider and setting Blaine's heels to rest on his back, his intent becomes clear.

Blaine's cock is flushed and twitching under Cooper's gaze. A pearly drop of precum gives off a hollow gleam as it beads at the tip, just waiting for a tongue to taste it. Cooper wraps a steadying hand around the base, feeling Blaine's stomach jump at the contact, before leaning close enough to scent Blaine's arousal and breathe heat on his cock. It feels like fire, and Blaine is helpless to contain the broken moans spilling from his lips. A swipe of the tongue across his cockhead, and Blaine is lost. His eyes roll back as exquisite tension presses on his spine. It only gives way when Cooper sinks his mouth lower, lower, until his lower lip is touching Blaine's balls and his nose is buried in coarse dark curls. On the upstroke, Cooper hollows his cheeks and pulls the heavy flesh back into his mouth even as he pulls off it. Slowly letting the length refill his mouth, he notices that it grew thicker, longer – he is bringing Blaine to full hardness, and the thought sends a spike of arousal down to his own, neglected, cock.

As he sinks deeper, the head starts pressing on palate. A wicked thought flashes through his mind. Without warning, he shifts angles and thrusts the cock into his throat. Blaine arches of the bed, his eyes blown and mouth gaping. To avoid releasing the cockhead from the depths of his mouth, Cooper follows his movement as Blaine bucks into the ridged pressure around his cock. His reactions are delicious, and Cooper wants to draw out every bit of pleasure Blaine's body can experience. He starts a rhythm of deep, penetrating swallows that press the walls of his throat against Blaine's sensitive flesh. There is nothing more intimate than giving your access to air in exchange for another's pleasure – it is intoxicating to be so vulnerable yet so empowered. It feels like overcoming the limits of nature in an effort to bring someone to the edge of ecstasy and throw them over. But soon his throat feels raw and his lungs start burning. Pulling off, he brings a hand to wrap around Blaine's cock as he catches his breath. The cock is slick with thick, fibrous saliva, a reminder of how close Cooper came to gagging.

"You want to come?" His voice is a bit rough, and he has to clear his throat before trying again, "You can come."

"I want to, but I want more." Blaine looks unsure, his thinking a bit slow and mind still mostly dedicated to processing the pressure of Cooper's hand sliding on his cock. "I need to feel you in me. That's how I want to come."

"Baby, you can come as many times as you'd like. I'd love to taste you, drink you down, then spread you wide and make you shatter on my cock." As he's talking, Cooper brings his hand to Blaine's entrance and starts to tease it with soft brushes and insistent presses. "But if you need me in you, will my fingers do?"

"Oh god, shut up. Just get your mouth back on me." Blaine's exasperation is real, as is his embarrassed blush, but so is his fond grin as he hands Cooper the bottle of lube and settles on hand into his hair. Perhaps dirty-talk wasn't Cooper's strong suit, but deep-throating was quickly becoming Blaine's favorite thing.

A pop of the bottle, a squirt of the lube, and Cooper's mouth is back around Blaine's dick. No long an exploration, his mouth's quick movements are a driving force towards Blaine's orgasm. Just as he sinks impossibly deep, Cooper brings the slick fingers up to whorl of dark skin below Blaine's balls. His fingertips catch on the rim and press smoothly in. The inside of Blaine's body is tight and hot. Everything about the boy is remarkable and overwhelming; the sensation of his ass taking you in is no exception. Cooper rests with his lips stretched, throat full, and tongue gently caressing the belly of Blaine's cock – he needs to ground himself against the feeling of Blaine clenching on his fingers. In several strokes, Blaine starts to arch and twist, his heels digging into Cooper's sides and head pressing into the pillow. He's close. Cooper can feel it in the tension of his thighs and he can taste it in the thickening precum coating his tongue. Thrusting his fingers deep into Blaine's body, he sinks until the cockhead penetrates his throat and takes one deep swallow. The cum floods his mouth as a moan fills the room. In spurts, it coats the sides of his throat and settles in every corner of his mouth. He struggles to swallow against Blaine's cock, but finally pulls off far enough to take a deep breath and let the cum ooze down his throat.

Blaine's chest is heaving and his curls twist in sweaty tangles on his forehead. Tucking his chin into his chest, he looks down to Cooper – his eyes are coated in a flattering sheen of hazy arousal. "Let me taste?"

"You…you want to taste cum?"

"I don't know what it tastes like."

Crawling up Blaine's body, Cooper tilts his head up from his chest and seals their lips. He lets his jaw unhinge, but doesn't press forward, lets Blaine move in to deepen the kiss. As Blaine's tongue swipes across his lips and into Cooper's mouth, it takes back with it the remnants of the cum Blaine spilled down Cooper's throat.

"What do you think?"

"It could taste better."

"You haven't tasted flavored lube. Believe me, nobody's ass should taste like cherry Nyquil."

"Is that why this one says 'edible, unflavored'?" Blaine's voice is lightly teasing as he turns the bottle to face Cooper. "Because you have an oral fixation?"

"Hey!" Cooper snags the bottle out of his hands. Ever so slightly put out, he twirls it in his hands and mumbles to the label "it's organic."

With a soft laugh, Blaine nuzzles into Cooper's hair and nudges him to look up. "Get up here." Blaine pulls Cooper into him and starts pressing gentle kisses into his lips just as his hands venture down Cooper's shoulders, across his chest, past his navel, and around his hips. When they make contact with the hot, eager flesh of Cooper's cock, it gives a jerk of recognition. "Should I find out if you taste better?"

Cooper groans into Blaine's neck. "Don't tempt me. Sweetheart, if you keep going, the night will end up with me passed out on top of you much sooner that we'd both like." Reluctantly, Cooper pulls away and presses a quick kiss into Blaine's forehead. He grabs the bottle of (organic) lube and recoats his fingers in a thick layer. "I love you."

An urge, a craving teases up Cooper's spine while he claims Blaine's mouth in a sloppy, thorough kiss. He wants to taste Blaine, bring him impossibly close to the edge on the tip of his tongue. And somehow do this without spooking Blaine. Rimming is not for everyone, and it certainly lies beyond Blaine's experience, but just the thought of burrowing his nose into Blaine's furrow and pressing desperate kisses into his hole is enough to leak a dollop of precum out of Cooper's slit.

"You trust me?" He looks up to read Blaine's eyes.

"You're silly." They are soft and full of love.

"Then just relax and stop me if you need a break."

Cooper sits back between Blaine's knees. Hooking his elbows behind Blaine's kneecaps, he slowly leans forward, bending Blaine and exposing his hole. In this position, they are warped in one another, tangled in each other's limbs. Blaine's breath catches at the unexpected exposure, the combination of cool air and Cooper's gaze against his hole enough to temporarily overwhelm his senses. But he does not stop Cooper from bending lower until his hot breath mists on the skin of Blaine's crack. Blaine's hand finds Cooper where it wraps around Blaine's thigh. He slots his fingers between Cooper's and holds on against this wave of new sensation.

With a deep inhale and a teasing lick against the inside of Blaine's right cheek, Cooper turns his attention to the clenching ring of muscle he is desperate to taste. His cock leaks precum and pulses with aching arousal as he starts pressing soft-lipped kisses on the rim. Flattening his tongue against the pucker, he slowly licks from crack to ball-sack, enjoying the changing textures of the skin. One every pass of his tongue against the rim, Blaine moans and arches slightly into the movement. When he wiggles just the tip into the hole, Blaine's individual moans dissolve into a puddle of sound. Pressing in deeper, farther, Cooper tastes the depths of his brother's body. He tightens his tongue and swipes it across the walls of Blaine's entrance, licking him loose and open. The hole is tight, the body pure, and just his tongue can't prep Blaine for penetration. Cooper takes as much time as he can, given the urgency of his arousal, tasting Blaine raw before bringing a well-lubed finger to this rim. With two last lavish licks to the relaxing muscle, he rests the tip of his finger at the hole and presses in.

"Oh, nnnghgghh…Cooper!" Blaine's moans catch in his throat and coil in the air. With no hesitation, Blaine rocks back onto Cooper's finger, letting one foot drop from Cooper's shoulder and fall flat on the bed for leverage. He presses back, seeking more depth, until the finger bottoms out. "More! Just, please, give me more!"

A second finger – Blaine is still tight but no longer clenching. The hole is just loose and relaxed enough for penetration, no longer gripping an intrusion like a vise. Cooper tries to slide in a third finger, but Blaine stops him. "If we go on, I'll cum." His pupils are dilated to the point where Cooper can only see a sliver of an amber frame, his curls completely wild and heavy with sweat. He'd been so focused on Blaine's hole, he had neglected the cock that lay twitching and leaking on his stomach. Pulling his fingers out, he presses a quick kiss into Blaine's cockhead and reaches for a condom.

Blaine's hand catches his wrist. There is an unfamiliar hesitancy and worry in his eyes. He shakes his head. "Can we not…use that?"

"The condom?"

Blaine blushes but nods. "I don't want it. I want you."

The instinct to give in, respond to Blaine's plea and give him exactly and everything he wants, clashes with years of safe-sex education. Some part of him jumps at the chance for a "teaching moment," at the ready with statistics about STIs and hygiene. But that would be entirely unfair – they either do this as equals, or not at all. He lets the condom fall from his hands, "Next time, we use a condom just so you know how it feels."

_Next time_. The words echo in Blaine's ears. Only when joy and light sweep into some clenched part of him does Blaine realize how much he needed to hear them. They had exposed themselves entirely, but the topic of what comes after had guardedly been left untouched. A piece of his heart has stayed shut tight and braced for heartbreak until the words _next time_ had soothed it's fears. Blaine races to his knees and tugs Cooper's head closer.

"I love you. I love you." And presses desperate, grateful kisses into his mouth.

Cooper lips quiver in a cheerful laugh against Blaine's kisses. He cups Blaine's head and guides them to lie across the bed. Nudging Blaine's legs to fall out wider and hitching one thigh to wrap around his hip, Cooper glances back at Blaine's face. There's mirth, and joy, and freedom breezing between them like fresh air.

With a smile to mirror the bliss on Blaine's face, Cooper reaches between them and places the head of his cock against Blaine's rim. He pushes in, intently focused on Blaine's reactions. Now that he knows how beautiful Blaine looks in the grips of arousal, he wants to absorb every moment of ecstasy etched into his brother's face. That soft skin glows with a sheen of light sweat, his jaw dropped open and shivering in swollen moans, those lips bitten-red and kiss-swollen.

When Cooper bottoms out, pressed to the balls into his brother's heat, Blaine lets out a stunning moan and lets his arms collapse on Cooper's back, one resting against the curve of his ribs and the other cradling the back of his head. They start to move ever-so-slowly. Cooper pulls out until the head of his cock catches on Blaine's rim, then painstakingly skins back down. He feels every ridge and every contraction of Blaine's ass, squeezing down on his cock and igniting his senses. There is no hurry or end-goal; every second and sensation is its own height of ecstasy. Their breaths grow shallow and more urgent as heat floods their heads and melts their muscles. Blaine tucks his head into Cooper's neck against the building pressure, pushing vibrating moans into his skin. Resting his face against Blaine's curls, Cooper senses something missing – he needs to see Blaine's face, wants to see it give into rapture. He gather's Blaine's body into his arms, winds his legs with Blaine's and pushes them to roll over.

As his head hits the pillow, Cooper feels Blaine shifting and trying to find balance on the unfamiliar planes of Cooper's body. Blaine pushes himself up to his arms and brushes the stray curls that fell into his eyes. They look a bit questioningly at Cooper.

"I wanted to see you."

Now, Blaine has the control, and he does not quite know what to do with it. Pushing himself farther up to sit on Cooper's hips, he changes angles and presses Cooper's cock deeper. The sensation is so sharp, he jerks up and off the cock with wide-eyed surprise.

"That! That was…"

"Probably your prostate. Was it too much?" But Blaine is still too shaken by the sensation to answer. He gives a shake of the head, but it looks like he is just trying to clear it. Reaching back for Cooper's cock, he takes one fortifying breath and, with rattled exhale, sits back down on the head. This time, he is leaning forward enough to pass by his prostate and take the head deep into his ass. The stretch and friction, the feeling of completion and fullness, make him daring. In small increments, he tilts his hips until he leans back enough to let the cockhead graze that place within that makes him tremble and shiver in painful pleasure. It is too much, far too much, and he wants more.

Gathering speed and strength, Blaine drops his hips onto Cooper's cock, taking him through the tight channel of his ass until his buttocks bounce against Cooper's hipbones. The slap of every bounce matches a rattling moan from Cooper and a whispered whimper from Blaine. Tucking his legs under himself, Blaine leans back far enough to see Cooper's cock as it impales him, sees the thicket of coarse hair that leads to a turgid length of hot flesh piercing through him. He's captivated by the sight – is looks so filthy, but feels so good. In a trance, he brings his right hand to his hole, tracing the rim that is stretches wide under the pressure of Cooper's cock. His fingers dip lower and catch Cooper's balls. He's never held another man's balls before – the feeling of their shape under soft skin as they slide in their shell under his hands is somehow endearing. But the broken moan and the powerful surge of Cooper's hips, thrusting his cock to the hilt into Blaine's ass – that is intoxicating. Blaine squeezes on Cooper's balls again, feels them draw tighter in his grip, as Cooper twitches and twists, trying to keep his hips steady.

Blaine weight falls over Cooper's body, collapsing on his chest and bringing Blaine's mouth to Cooper's ears. "Do not hold back."

With a broken moan, Cooper's control shatters. He brings his arms around Blaine's back and holds him tight as his feet brace against the bed for leverage. Without warning or pause, he sets a brutal rhythm, pumping his hips with powerful thrusts that rock through Blaine's entire body. He feels Blaine's cock, hard and leaking precum against his stomach, feels Blaine's hot breath and strangled moans against his neck, feels the tightening of his hole as Cooper's cock pounds him. Their muscles move in synch with single purpose as both spiral towards release.

"Come with me. Oh, Blaine, come with me." He mutters over the heavy slaps on his balls on Blaine's cheeks.

The coil of pressure mounts behind their eyes, pressing on their every nerve ending, until it spans. Blaine's face scrunches, his mouth falls open as his eyes span shut. His back stains against the iron-hold of Cooper's arms and every muscle in his body vibrates. When his cock jerks, pulsing with hot cum that spurts between their chests, he burrows his face into Cooper's neck and relaxes into the spasms of his body. His hole rhythmically clenches, so tight, so used, and brings Cooper to orgasm. Braced on his heels, Cooper thrusts into his hole and arches as cum shoots far up Blaine's ass, deep into his body.

Blinking his eyes open, Cooper takes stock of his body's sensations. Everything feels loose and melted, as if he were a puddle on the bed. He tries to move his arm, but only his finger twitches. The spasms of Blaine's ass against his cock shoot sparks of over-sensitivity and compel his muscles to move. Tightening his hold around Blaine in a fierce hug, he shifts under him and lets his cock come loose. It falls with a wet slap against Blaine's thigh. Brings a hand to Blaine's wet curls, he whispers, "Love you."

He hears something like a murmured "luv you" by his ear, Blaine's voice muffled by Cooper's hair and pillow.

Gently rolling Blaine over, he leans against his elbow to take in how beautiful Blaine looks debauched and satiated. The temptation to kiss him is irresistible. As their mouths slowly meld, Cooper brings one hand between Blaine's legs. His cum is seeping from Blaine's hole, still slightly warm and slippery from his body heat. Running his fingertips along the dearly familiar path from Blaine's crack up to his balls, Cooper coats them with his cum and sinks them into Blaine's body.

"Too much!" Blaine breaks the kiss and twists away from the sensation.

"Sorry," pressing apologetic kisses into Blaine's nose, Cooper removes his wet fingers. "The thought of you, full of me…needed to feel it."

Blaine traces the outline of Cooper's face, fingertips ghosting along his jawline, across his brow, thumbing his lips. Their eyes are drooping and they need to sleep. Reaching across his body and under the bed, Blaine comes up with Cooper's t-shirt. He wipes the sweat off Cooper's face and then wraps it around his hands to clean away the traces of cum he carried from Blaine's ass. Ditching the shirt back on the floor, he turns towards the wall and tugs Cooper to him. Nearly asleep, Cooper presses in close, wrapping Blaine in his heat and tucking Blaine's smaller body against his own.

For several minutes, Blaine can't sleep. His body is energized and his mind awake. But for the first time in months, as his eyes trace the uneven surface of the bedroom wall, his mind is calm and his heart beats steady.

* * *

><p>New York summers can strangle a person's soul. Blaine's shirt clings to his body and he itches to get it off. Keys rattle in his hand as he brings it to wipe the sweat off his brow. Hitching his right hip, he sets the brown bag full of groceries against his hipbone and unlocks the door.<p>

"Did you buy the milk!"

He toes off his shoes and uses his one free hand to unstick his t-shirt from his chest. "Yes! And the flour! And the eggs! Though what I really wanted was ice and water."

"Yeah, well, you can't make cupcakes out of those." Cooper pops his head around the corner and Blaine can see smudges of flour on his shirt. White streaks decorate his hair, where he clearly sank his hands in exasperation.

"It's 105 . Can we spend the day anywhere but the kitchen? Let's go to the park. Or the shower." Setting the bag on their tiny kitchen counter, Blaine twists the soaking t-shirt over his head and lets it fall to the ground. Cooper's cool hands settle on his waist as he bends over to press chaste kisses into Blaine's nipples.

"Tempting, but we have to be at Molly's by 7:00 and we promised birthday cupcakes." Cooper turns back and heads into the kitchen, a nook of space dedicated to a fridge and a small gas stove, which is already set to 375 . At first, Blaine thought that it would be too small. When Blaine graduated from NYU and they decided to continue living in the city, Cooper suggested buying a place of their own. Shopping took months, but when they stepped into this apartment, Cooper fell in love. It was a brownstone on the Upper West Side, charming and cozy from its hardwood floors to its high beam ceilings. Blaine's main concern was the kitchen, a sliver of floor-space that was clearly designed to accommodate one anorexic model. As soon as he voiced his concern, Cooper leaned over and whispered into his ear "Just imagine me pounding your ass over that counter. Forget the floor-space, think of the leverage you can get out of those drawers." They made their first deposit before rushing home.

In New York, they were known as Cooper and Blaine. No one asked questions, and they did not have answers. There were no labels, no definitions. Cooper had never introduced Blaine as his boyfriend, and Blaine had never said that they were dating. The only certainty between them was an undying, burning love.

"Have you called mom?"

"I am pretty sure that it's your turn to call the folks."

At home, back in Ohio, things were different. They did not like going back. There, they were brothers, here they were themselves. On a particularly painful visit, James Anderson sat down his son and told Cooper that it was time to settle down and find a wife. That being a bachelor in New York was well and dandy, but he was a role-model of his younger brother. Their parents knew that they shared a loft, an idea they sold on the excuse of expensive rent and little money; their father was concerned, "What do you think Blaine learns when he sees all of your girlfriends ?"

Cooper exploded. The insinuation that he wasn't taking care of Blaine shook so much anger loose in his chest that he vibrated with the tension.

"Who are you to tell us how to live? We have a life in New York, a happy life! Blaine is happy there and so am I! We may not live like you want, with wives and families and children, but we live as we want. And don't feed the same bullshit to Blaine. I don't know what the hell it is that we don't give you, how the fuck we failed you, but I am just glad we have each other. Let us live how we want; we don't ask anything of you, and you don't demand anything of us."

The outburst shocked the Andersons and left a tear on Blaine's cheek. He followed Cooper up the stairs into his old bedroom and promised to find the first plane back to the city.

And so they lived in their city. New York is a place of fantasy and magic – it let them live by their own rules, take care of one another, and love each other as deeply and dearly as they knew how. And there were secrets, lies, and the occasional flash of guilt, but none of that measured against the integrity of their commitment to each other's daily joy.

_If we were anybody else, we would have long ago been married. _The thought is bittersweet in Cooper's mind. While Blaine changes out of his sweaty pants and tugs an apron over his head, Cooper fingers the twin rings jiggling in his pockets. He might not be able to give Blaine everything, but he will give him all he can.

After all, they were already Mssrs. Blaine and Cooper Anderson.


	3. Through the Looking Glass Part I

Hello! The story that never ends is now officially a trilogy. This is the Part 1 of Story III in this verse. The rest will continue to go up as I get the chance to go back to edit, or my amazing beta has a chance to take a look at it. I would like ParadiseorPurgatory for her help and remind everyone that I do not own Glee.

* * *

><p>Alice's Tea Cup: Chapter II is located on 64th Street. It is a quaint little tea shop that takes up the first two stories of an Upper East Side brownstone and serves the best scones to ever crumble in Blaine's mouth. He knew it would be one of those places he would return to, time and time again, from the moment he first set foot on its checker-board floor.<p>

At approximately 6:38am on a warm July morning so many years ago, Blaine Anderson arrived in JFK airport with his entire life stuffed into a monstrous suitcase. Although his flight was a red-eye, Blaine couldn't sleep and spent the entire flight from Ohio to New York working himself into a panic. There were far too many silent hours to come up with the worst possible scenarios for what could go wrong upon arrival. He was flying towards a new life, a new school, toward adulthood and independence and responsibility. While all of those things were terrifying and exhilarating, the thought that preoccupied him the most was life with Cooper. Never before had he resented the uncertainty of their relationship more than in those few hours he spent suspended in the night sky. Over the past several years they had settled into an intuitive routine, but Blaine's arrival in New York would shake it in unpredictable ways. How were two brothers, who were also lovers and soul mates, meant to share an apartment, a household, and a life?

When Blaine landed, wide-eyed and exhausted, it was only the thought of seeing Cooper again that gave him the strength to leave his gate. But then Cooper's fierce embrace, the windstorm of baggage-claim, cab-ride and arrival at Cooper's Manhattan apartment distracted Blaine from the worries that had brewed in his mind all night long. They'd dropped Blaine's stuff in the middle of Cooper's apartment around 7:40am, the early morning sun bathing the apartment in a warm golden glow. Eager to burn off the energy and excitement of their reunion, Cooper suggested a walk through Central Park: "The runners! Every morning, there's hundreds of marathon runners training in the park. You've got to see them; it's like a vicarious work-out."

New York was just starting to wake up. Blaine remembers that his first impression of New York was the twittering of blue-jays and the scent of blooming trees. The air was fresh and crisp, but just warm enough to hint at the heat and humidity to come. They took the N train to 5th Ave and 59th St, reemerging from the underground to the sounds of speeding cabs and restless horses. Blaine remembers wandering aimlessly, carving out their path through the park, taking in the sights and sounds of his new home as Cooper chattered about his latest assignment and the big project coming up in August. Most of all, he remembers the moment of blinding clarity that came with the realization that this city didn't know them as brothers. He reached out and gently touched Cooper's arm, sliding his hand down until they were palm to palm, fingers curling through Cooper's, a soft smile and a glimmer of unadulterated joy in his eye. Walking hand in hand with the man he loved through Central Park may have been one the happiest moments in Blaine's life.

"There's a place I've been dying to show you. Clare, one of my friends, took me there a couple of weeks ago. I know you'll love it. Ready for your first New York breakfast?" Cooper could not contain his excitement; his body buzzed and vibrated and he wanted to dip Blaine into everything good and beautiful about life in New York. Starting with breakfast at Alice's Tea Cup.

A short walk through Upper West Side brought them to an awning over the entrance to Wonderland. There was a short wait at the door while the maître d' sprinkled two young girls with fairy dust and asked them for three wishes. Blaine took in the checkered floor, the enormous butterflies on the ceiling, and the wall-to-wall mural depicting Alice's adventures and thought that nothing was more appropriate from his first meal in New York.

Now, several years after he first set foot in Alice's, Blaine is a regular. It is the place where every significant event was marked and celebrated over Lavender Earl Gray and buttermilk scones with homemade whipped cream and strawberry jam. Today, the bell jingles merrily as he pushes through the door, pausing to wait as Clare and Jake stumble down the stairs.

"Blaine! Sweetheart! It's so good to see you!" Maria's booming voice rings out as she spots him from behind the counter. Maria owns all three of "Chapters" of the Alice's Tea Cups, but prefers to spend her time in Chapter II, where she is closest to the shops and can catch up with her favorite regulars. She's a large woman, with a voice to match her impressive bosom, which Blaine is intimately familiar with after years of receiving generous and smothering hugs. "Where's your beautiful boyfriend? My Sunday is not the same without seeing that handsome face."

By then, Clare and Jake make their way inside and overhear the last moments of Maria's greeting. "What, are we not good enough anymore?" Jake quips as Blaine finds himself, once again, nose-deep in Maria's breasts. "Don't worry, Mr. Handsome is just running late. Cooper will be joining us in a few. Do you have a table for four? I need caffeine."

"This is a tea-shop. If you wanted shit coffee, you should have stopped at Starbucks."

Clare and Jake's relationship frustrates all of their friends but suits them just fine. They love each other dearly, spend much of their free time together, and regularly have sex, but they don't date and frequently complain about being single. It's as if they need two giant arrows to point them toward each other, but who is Blaine to judge the idiosyncrasies of relationships.

Once they are seated and promised their regular orders (after a small war over the benefits of black tea over coffee), the three fall into a sleepy silence. Being here relaxes Blaine; it's like being in the middle of every great memory you have, enveloped in a warm embrace of comfort and calm. Today, he has all the more reason to surrender to joy – Cooper is coming home. They have been apart for a little over two weeks, thanks to an assignment that sent Cooper to England. Over the past few years, he had become a successful and reputable marketing consultant, a position that gave him plenty of opportunities to travel. But no matter how frequently he went away, they would always reunite at Alice's, spending a long morning over scones and conversation.

"It's a good thing Cooper is coming." Maria plops down on the near-by chair and unceremoniously tugs Blaine's tea cup closer to her side of the table. "Cause I have a surprise for you. You're both from Ohio, right?"

Blaine feels a twinge of nervousness at the mention of his home state. As far as he is concerned, nothing good ever came out of Ohio. Reclaiming his tea-cup, Blaine nods into his Earl Grey.

"That's great! 'Cause our new girl, Rachel, just moved here from Lima." Maria enthusiastically waves over a short, dark-haired girl who is manning the counter. "Hey, Rachel! Rachel, get over here! There are some people I want you to meet!" Maria is beaming and excitedly jumps from her chair to take over for Rachel behind the scone-bar. "I'll just let you talk, catch up…"

"She does realize that not everybody from Ohio knows each other?" Jake mumbles around his cup of coffee, still far from tapping into his usual, endless reserve of energy.

Unfortunately for Blaine, enough people from Ohio know each other. In fact, in his opinion, too many people from Ohio know each other. The girl currently weaving between tables in his favorite New York café, smoothing down the front of her apron is Rachel Berry, his duet partner from summer gigs at theme parks and carnivals.

* * *

><p>His hand is frozen around the delicate stem of his tea-cup as he struggles to blink.<p>

"Blaine? Blaine Anderson!" Rachel's face breaks into a cheerful smile after she rocks back in surprised recognition. "It _is_ you! My god, you look so grown up!"

Clare and Jake appear a bit baffled by this coincidence. Clare, who is more awake and generally more observant, notes the stark contrast between the reactions of these two Ohio natives; the girl with the long, dark hair and a voice that carried to every nook of the café is radiating excitement, while Blaine looks so pale his face felt chilled.

Stumbling to his feet, Blaine wraps Rachel in a surprisingly strong embrace. If he could, he wouldn't have let go – less danger of risky questions when she is pressed into his chest. In those milliseconds while they are wrapped in each other, taking entirely different types of comfort from the hug, Blaine's mind rushes to provide all the right answers to potentially fatal questions and plans the quickest route of escape from what promises to be a mine-field of a conversation.

"What are the odds!" Rachel pulls back to look up at Blaine. "My first week in New York, and I already bump into someone I know!"

"You'd be surprised. Once you live here long enough, the city becomes just one big village." Blaine leads Rachel back to the table and makes quick introductions before seating her in the empty chair. While they are focused on each other, Jake leans over to whisper into Clare's hair, "First time I see someone shorter than our hobbit. Do they make 'em like that in Ohio?"

Within the first few minutes of conversation, Blaine learns more about Rachel Berry than he knows about his close acquaintances. After high school, she followed her fiancé to Los Angeles after he expressed a cursory interest in acting and a more concrete interest in joining his friend's pool-cleaning business. Neither of them found success on Hollywood casting couches. With time, Finn (who Blaine vaguely remembers from show-choir competitions as a clumsy giant) devoted his attention to cleaning pools and, according to Rachel, insisted that they both "grow up and forget this stupid high school fantasy." Instead, Rachel filed for divorce and came to New York, where she was always meant to be.

"Yes, my dreams are starting to come true – much later than I planned – but it was an adventure and an experience I will later share on late-night talk shows. I am here now, ready for Broadway. It's time to start living the dream, not just dreaming it."

She looks fresh, as if stepping on the path she had planned for herself back in high school carved years off her age.

"But enough about me! How is the talented and dapper Blaine Anderson doing? I didn't even realize you'd moved here!"

Blaine's eyes cast down and he fingers the frills on his teapot coaster. "Yes, I moved here right after high school. I always wanted to live in this city, soak up some of its energy. So after graduating from NYU, I stayed and started writing music. Sometimes I teach, guitar, piano, anything really. But composing is what makes my heart soar."

Jake snorts into his coffee, "Really? I thought only Cooper made your heart go pitter-patter. Honestly, what era are you from."

"Cooper! Your brother, Cooper?" Rachel nearly knocks over their tea set in her excitement. "Does he live here too? Oh, god, I remember him from all those shows we used to do. He was the epitome of tall, dark, and oh so handsome. Sometimes I thought that our shows would be more popular if we just let him stand on stage. And it was so sweet that he would come to watch you perform – you have such an incredible relationship. If only all of us had brothers as supportive and gorgeous as yours."

Blaine barely hears Rachel's gushing; his heart is squeezed tight in his chest and his ears ring until Rachel's voice was just a dim echo. His head is fuzzy and he feels light. From a distance, he hears Clare's voice ask, "Brother? What do you mean 'brother'?" Their eyes lock and Blaine registers her confusion, doubt, and growing bewilderment.

The sharp ring of the bell over the door breaks through Blaine's haze. "Honey! I'm home!" It's Cooper. "Sorry I'm late, we had to wait for gate assignment and then traffic into the city, well it was a mess. It's always a mess. Hey Maria! Hope the scones are extra-fluffy today!"

Cooper's presence fills the small café. He clearly came here straight from the airport, since he is still dragging a small, carry-on suitcase and wearing a coat far too warm for New York weather. He drops his luggage behind the counter and appears by Blaine's side.

"Sweetheart, so good to see you! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting." Cooper is eager to apologize and leans in for a kiss without registering the look of panic on Blaine's face. Blaine throws up his hands to stop him, but Cooper seals the lips in a strong kiss before he can push him off. The kiss is powerful, passionate, and far from chaste. It's a kiss from which there is no turning back.

* * *

><p>When Cooper pulls back with a playful smack of his lips, he finally takes in Blaine's wide eyes and shaky breathing. "Blaine, honey, is everything OK?" His eyebrows knot in concern and he rests his palm against Blaine's cool cheek.<p>

"You're brothers?" Jake earns a nudge in the ribs and repeats in stage-whisper, "Brothers?"

Suddenly, there is not enough air and temperature fluctuates from hot to arctic. Cooper and Blaine freeze, locked in each other's eyes and still pressed palm to cheek. It's over. The fantasy that they were safe and far from judgment, protected by the anonymity of a giant metropolis where they were always lovers. Where no one knew them as anything but "Cooper and Blaine" and where their whole lives, their history, started upon Blaine's arrival on an early, warm morning in July. But now, the city knew. Their secret tore through every street and alley until all of New York knew and there was nowhere to hide. And now there were questions. Questions that could not have existed just moments ago. Questions that turn their relationship inside-out.

For the first time in over nine years, when Blaine looks into Cooper's eyes he sees his brother.

In some deep recess of their minds, Blaine and Cooper remembered that their relationship was wrong. But it was not a thought that ever surfaced. Nine years of loving one another, of ironing each other's shirts, and arguing over chores, reminding one another to buy milk (the 2%, not that skim shit – that stuff's like water), sleeping in each other's arms, and brushing teeth while the other's in the shower, those moments have become their lives. They did not live in existential turmoil over the nature of their love – instead, they reveled in the mundane and perfect everyday joys of sharing their lives.

But now there were questions, so many questions that the air was thick, cloying as it swirled around them. And all their answers required a deep dive into everything they struggled to forget. Blaine feels naked and shivers from an imagined breeze. There were no walls, no secrets to protect them now.

"Wait, you…you're…together?" Rachel hesitates to ask, the accusation too unimaginable to twist around her tongue.

"What the hell is going on?" Jake has no problem voicing his response. But his tone and face are a contradiction – it signals bafflement and concern, anger and frustration, as if the only thing he is certain of is that he is confused.

At once, all three observes start speaking, rattling off questions and random memories of Blaine and Cooper, trying to reconcile all that they know. Cooper's voice is strong and sure when he interrupts them, "Wait. Everyone, just shut up for a second." He squats by Blaine's side and takes his hands in his. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?" His eyes search Blaine's for a signal of distress. He knows how to handle that, he know how to rescue Blaine.

Blaine cracks a smile, "Wonder how much self-control it took you to _not_ end that sentence with 'baby bro'."

"All of it." They share a soft smile. Blaine feels a wave of laziness, a tiredness that comes from laying in the sun. There is nothing left to protect, to hide, and he relaxes into the realization that soon his life will be free of lies and secrets. There is nothing left to fear, and with that thought comes a freedom.

Focused on each other, they can breathe again. Their hearts respond to one another rather than their friends and start to beat at pace. In their gaze, in their touch, they say _They may know, but this changes nothing. I will love you until my dying day._

"We are going to need another order of tea and scones!" Cooper calls over to Maria as he drags a free chair over to the table. She looks nervous and worried, clearly having picked up on the unexpected tension, and quickly rushes to grab a tea set.

"Cooper, do you remember Rachel? She used to be my duet partner." Blaine cautiously introduces the girl Cooper had barely registered out of the corner of his eye. But now that he is sitting across from her, she does look remarkably familiar. It is not until he hears her voice announcing, "We sang 'Baby It's Cold Outside' in the King's Island Christmas Spectacular" that he places her on the stage next to a sixteen-year old Blaine.

"Rachel! Yes, I do remember now. The Barbra Streisand of Lima, right?" At that moment, Maria appears, hovering over their table with a loader tray.

"Oh, good! So you do know each other!" She looks remarkably relieved. Watching the brewing storm from behind the counter had planted the thought that perhaps it was somehow wrong to introduce Rachel. But now, those worries are dispelled. "Excellent! It is excellent! But imagine, just what are the odds? What a random, happy coincidence!" She sets the china on the table and motions for Rachel to keep sitting, not that the girl had made any motion to leave, "Catch up! No hurry, I am such you have a lot to talk about."

Blaine can't help the snort of laughter that bubbles out of him just as Cooper's face breaks into a manic grin. "Yes, what the fuck are the odds?" Cooper mumbles into his shoulder just low enough for Blaine to overhear. When they look up, their faces are ridiculously happy with just a hint of hysteria.

"Can you two stop giggling? There are people here who still have no idea what the hell is going on." Clare does not share their enviable sense of humor. "Now, according to Blaine's duet partner, you two are brothers? What the fuck does that mean?"

"We are." Blaine shifts his gaze from Cooper's wide smirk to Clare, whose face is contorted in rapt attention. "We are brothers. I am Blaine Anderson and he is Cooper Anderson. He is my big brother."

"What does that mean, brother? Like a frat? Do you belong to some cult?" Jake desperately tries to find the least bizarre interpretation of Blaine's confession.

But Cooper raises an eyebrow and gives him a deeply skeptical look. "No, brothers. As in, we share parental units. We came out of the same womb. Brothers – like the Jonas brothers, only with talent." He stops only because Blaine elbows him in the side and whispers "Thank you for the clarification. I think they got it."

Clare shakes her head and reaches across the table for Blaine's hand. "But, that's impossible. You two are married. You have wild sex and show up to work with hickeys. You ditch us in clubs to grope each other in the alley. I have seen you two kiss. What the fuck do you mean you're brothers!" Her grip on Blaine's hand is tight and her focus on his eyes is unwavering. If she grips him tight enough, he will realize that they're not brothers. It's impossible for them to be brothers. She will push this conviction into him through her fingertips.

When Blaine lays his palm over hers, it is gentle and warm, so unlike her own desperate hold. "Clare, it's true. All of it is true. We are lovers, have been for years. I have been living with Cooper since the day I moved out of our parents' house. And yes, we fuck and we kiss and we cook and we clean. We've loved each other for so long, we don't know how to do anything else. This is weird, I know it is, and I have no idea what I would be thinking if I were sitting in your chair right now. But you have to know that we are exactly who we were all of these years. And while we both know that our relationship is…not OK…we haven't regretted it for a moment. We have what everyone in the world is looking for - real, true, lasting love. And while it _is_ strange, I am never calling it wrong. And I'm _not_ apologizing for it."

With every word, Blaine's voice grows strong. He sits back and grabs Cooper's hand.

"But…you're married. You have rings." Clare is still searching for some loophole.

Cooper takes a gentle hold of Blaine's wrist and brings his ring finger to his lips. "Yes, I wanted to world to know that we belong to each other." He looks over into the faces of their friends and feels unprecedentedly lucky. No matter what happens today, he will go home with the man he loves, and nothing could take that away from him. "Obviously, we didn't get married. Not in the City Hall, wedding and reception, kind of way. I asked Blaine over breakfast whether he would spend the rest of his life with me. And when he said yes, I slipped two matching wedding rings on our fingers." Settling their interwoven hands on Blaine's knee, Cooper continues, "We are married. By choice. By how we live our lives. The rings, they're purely symbolic. Well, all wedding rings are symbolic, but ours symbolize a symbolic marriage. They give us a way to touch each other when we are apart, to remind us of what we're coming home to - and to easily scare off any twinks in the clubs."

Having covered all the basics, Cooper grabs the nearest scone and slathers it with whipped cream before stuffing it into his mouth. Preemptively, Blaine reaches for a napkin right in time to catch the avalanche of crumbles.

"God, no wonder you know each other so well." Jake rolls his eyes at their sickeningly-sweet display of familiarity. "I always said it's like you haven't been separated since birth."

"Yeah, you are a regular psychic." Clare snaps at Jake, but she is still distracted as she leans back into her chair. Watching the three of them was like slowly speeding up a paused track. They had been frozen, listening to Cooper and trying to process the notion of brothers/lovers, but now they are coming back to life. Rachel releases a heavy sigh and concentrates on straightening out her cutlery. Jake wrestles a chunk of his English muffin into his mouth. And Clare pitches forward to pour herself another cup. For a moment, the only sounds marring the awkward silence are the tinkling of spoons on china.

"And how are your parents?" Rachel could think of nothing else to say.

* * *

><p>"Well, this was an unexpectedly interesting conversation." Clare digs though her purse in search for her wallet.<p>

"Yes, who would have guessed that Blaine's favorite song used to be 'Puff, the Magic Dragon'?"

"I was six! And I had a stuffed dragon!"

Breakfast comes to an end when they run out of jam and the tea gets cold and bitter. Blaine and Rachel exchange phone numbers and promises to stay in touch before she starts gathering their abandoned plate and hurries back behind the counter. With long, heartfelt good-byes to Maria (along with praise for the new jam recipe and a solemn oath to return next week), the four New Yorkers make their way out the door to the echoes of a ringing bell.

By this hour, the streets are packed with sweating pedestrians and honking cabs. The pavement, soaking up heat, is streaked with sunlight and splotched with shadows. It's a beautiful day.

Blaine leans against Cooper, drawing comfort from the sensation of his strong chest and the feeling of his arms eagerly coming to wrap him in a loose embrace. Once they start down the street, Cooper reaches for Blaine's hand and doesn't let go.

Clare and Jake lag behind them on the narrow sidewalk. Now that they know of the familial and genetic connection between the two men ahead of them, it is hard to stop searching for similarities. They have the same shape to their high cheekbones, the same prep-school manners, but more than that, they have the same mannerisms, the same look of concentration, and the same smirk that is part mischief and part giddiness.

"And all this time, I just thought after living together for so long, they started blending into one person." Jake is careful to speak quietly enough to avoid drawing their attention.

"They really do love each other." Surfacing from her musings, Clare turns to Jake and grabs his elbow. "Do you have the feeling like you missed something? Like the world just pulled a giant prank? I mean, look at them! They are so in love, have been since the day I met them. Of all the couples I know, they are the ones I look to as proof that it can be done. That true love still works. How is it possible that it's their relationship that's the most…wrong? Dysfunctional? I don't even know what the word is!"

Taking Clare's hand, Jake slows her to a stop. "Yes, some part of me is still sitting at that table in shock. And yes, I do feel as if someone just pulled the rug from under my feet - and not just 'cause they're brothers, but because now I've lost some boundary I never thought I'd cross. Two hours ago, if you'd have asked me what I thought about incest, 'cause that's what this is, I would have said…well, what any normal person would have said. But now, looking at them, none of those words come to mind. It's disorienting. But it's not their faults for making us think a little harder. At the end of the day, they are the same Blaine and Cooper. And they still have what all of us desperately hope to find – I am not going to abandon them for finding it in each other."

They walk in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, until reaching Blaine and Cooper, who had been waiting in the shade. Clare notices that when they approached, Blaine pulled up from leaning on Cooper's shoulder and dropped his hand. Seeing their restraint, how carefully they tried to find a new balance in acceptable behavior, Clare's eyes start to mist. She rushes to fold Blaine in a strong embrace, wrapping him up in acceptance, love, and gratitude.

"We love you. We will always love you." Even as tears streak down her cheeks, her face is lit up with a smile. "Thank you for trusting us. I know you didn't have a choice, but still. And you don't have to worry, this stays between us. Complete confidentiality!" she jokes as she hurriedly wipes her cheeks. Instead of cracking a smile, Blaine and Cooper exchange a glance.

"Actually…" Cooper starts.

"We're thinking of 'coming out,' so to speak." Blaine looks back to Clare and Jake, measuring their reaction. "I know that most people will not be as understanding and supportive as you. And we are so grateful for how incredible you've been handling this. But secrets can't stay hidden forever. Today proved that, if nothing else. And next time someone finds out, we'd rather have it on our terms."

"Plus," jumping in, Cooper leans against Blaine's back to look over his shoulder, "now that we have a taste of freedom, we are not going back. I haven't thought of Blaine as my brother for so long, and our lives here were already so wonderful and complete, I forgot that there was one thing missing. I don't want this thing hanging over us. No more lies, no more secrets. We came to New York to be free. And this is the only thing standing in our way."


	4. Through the Looking Glass Part II

Hi! So, this is a pretty big chunk, but I am working on finishing the story, so the next update will come quickly. Thank you to all of you who took the time to review - I am incredibly grateful. Hope you enjoy this installment.

P.S. I don't own Glee.

* * *

><p>Clare and Jake tried to talk them out of it. Begged them not to do it.<p>

"Are you insane?"

"Do you know what will happen? Can you imagine what people will say?"

"Please, don't do it. We love you too much to let you do this. You're gonna get hurt."

But Blaine and Cooper radiated a calmness of two people who had made up their minds. No matter how desperately Clare pleaded, or how rationally Jake insisted that it was a mistake, they did not budge. Parting ways, Blaine extended an invitation to dinner sometime next week, when they would tell the rest of their "tribe" the truth. In several days, the number of people who knew their secret would triple.

Instead of heading home, Jake walked Clare to the nearest subway station and turned around. A quick walk brought him back to the entrance of Alice's Tea Cup. The breakfast crowd had dispersed, but a wave of lunch-seeking New Yorkers, sweating and fanning themselves with menus, filled the crammed café. With an apology to Maria, he asked for a couple of minutes of Rachel's time.

"Those crazy idiots want to come out. They wanna tell everyone about being brothers," he said in lieu of "hello".

"But…but that's crazy! Have they lost their minds!"

He whole-heartedly agreed, "Try telling them that. But there's no point talking to 'em. That's why I'm here. They're gonna do this. And when they do, they're gonna need friends. Yes everybody adores Blaine and loves Cooper, but there is no way in hell this is gonna end well. So when it goes to shit, we need to be there for 'em. Here's my number," he hands a dumbstruck Rachel his business card, "call me if you're willing to stand by them."

"I am. Maybe I don't know them all that well, but you'd need to be blind to miss the way they look at each other. It may take me a couple of days and several bottles of wine to get over the fact that I am supporting incest, but…I will be there when they need me." She pockets his card and stands a little taller. Rachel Berry was never one to avoid drama.

* * *

><p>That was several days ago. Since then, every member of their New York tribe has received invitations to Thursday's dinner at Cooper and Blaine's. It was an eclectic group of people; a struggling musician living in Brooklyn in his mom's basement and determined to make it as a rock-star; an actor who still waits tables in the Lower East Side after dropping out of NYU; two Barnard girls who vacationed in the Hamptons when they didn't feel like flying to Europe; a CBS intern who sold his soul to corporate America; one Fishhead who never left the house without his bong; and their equally colorful significant others. All but one accepted Blaine's invitation (Patrice was on a wine tour in France). Clare and Jake continued making feeble attempts to stop Blaine and Cooper from going through with their plan. By the time Wednesday rolled around, they switched tactics and began preparing for the inevitable fall out.<p>

They arrived at Cooper and Blaine's apartment an hour ahead of everyone else. Blaine was in the kitchen, frantically running between the fridge, the stove, and his soiled cookbook, which was dripping some sort of sauce and looking like a CSI trauma victim. Cooper's clear baritone floated from another room above the fizzing of the scolding skillet and the buzzing mixer.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" A timer went off and Blaine nearly burned his hands reaching into the oven.

The air was nervous, vibrating with anxiety and trepidation. For the first time since making the spontaneous decision to publicly announce their relationship, Blaine let his mind grow full of doubt. He wasn't stupid – he knew how easily (and likely) things could go wrong. Terribly, terrifyingly wrong. When the moment of truth was days away, it was so much easier to convince himself that it was worth it, that living free of dread and lies was worth the possibility of losing friendships. But when he was hours away from standing in a room full of people who were about to learn the he and Cooper were brothers, he tensed against the urge to run. Now, the kitchen bubbled and steamed with four new dishes – the results of his efforts to keep himself from trying to bolt.

"This is insane," he mumbled into his forearms when he dropped his head onto the counter. When he looked up, a dollop of cream smeared against his brow. "This is all insane. Why are we doing this? We shouldn't do this. I'm going to tell Cooper we're not doing this."

He hands shook as he wiped his face. Clare's eyes were wide and full of sympathy when he met her gaze.

"Oh, sweetheart!" she rushed to his side for a tight hug. "We will support you, whatever you decide. For the record, I think this is a mistake. But you know that already. You decided to do this for your own reasons."

"Retarded reasons" supplied Jake.

"You had your reasons," Clare is quick to correct him with a glare, "and I want you to know that we'll completely understand if you don't want to do this."

"But I do. I think I do want to do this. Well, I don't want to _do_ it, but I want it to get done. Panic attack aside, I think that this will be good for us."

And that is how Clare finds herself sitting between Jake and Rachel, surrounded by every New Yorker who mattered in Blaine and Cooper's lives. The trio is nearly silent while the rest of the party is chatting loudly and passing plates. If anyone picks up on their short, forced smiles and ram-rod postures, they are quickly distracted by overlapping conversations between old friends. Blaine busies himself with counting plates and silverware to make sure there is enough while Cooper keeps crocking bottles of wine and running around the apartment for extra chairs. In this moment, Jake realizes the meaning of solitude. Surrounded by their oldest, dearest friends, he knows the meaning of being alone. He, Clare, and Rachel are not in the same moment as the rest of the party – they are in the moment to come, when the word "brothers" will ring through this room. And looking at Blaine and Cooper, he knows that they too are alone, and that they have been alone, just the two of them against the world, since the moment they discovered just how deep their love ran. Solitude is the feeling of numbing cold and gaping distance that seeps into your bones when you recognize that on one else can understand.

* * *

><p>Cooper watches Blaine take several deep breaths. He is pressed into a corner of the kitchen, trying to squeeze himself between the wall and the fridge. His eyes are closed and his hands are clenched. After years of living with the man, Cooper can recognize the signs of Blaine approaching a melt-down. His heart clenches at the sight of the man he loves in such distress. In three short strides (this kitchen is absurdly tiny), he steps through Blaine's protective bubble and squeezes his hands between the wall and Blaine's back.<p>

"Honey, we can stop this right now. We can feed them the ridiculous amount of food you've prepared and send them home. If you want, we can kick 'em out." At Blaine's raised eyebrow, he insists, "I don't care. We will do whatever you want – fuck 'em all, they can go home and eat take out if it makes you happy."

Blaine shakes his head, burrowing into Cooper's chest. "No, we're doing this. I'm just scared. I have no idea what to expect. I can't help feeling like this dinner is about saying good-bye. There are people in there that we may never see again."

Cooper nods against Blaine's curls and lets them tickle his nose. They stand in each other's embrace, drawing warmth and comfort for the certainty that they will always have each other. But then some calls out, "I see plates, I see food, why they fuck aren't we eating!" and it is time to go back. They walk, hand-in-hand, out of the kitchen.

* * *

><p>Dinner is torture. Fourteen people are crammed into a space large enough for six; the couch seats five, with two people sitting on the back, and the coffee table becomes a sitting area for three. Those who are left standing use bookshelves as tables, while those who are at the table balance their plates in their hands, since serving plates take up all the space. The din of multiple conversations, easy laughter and clinking forks rings through the apartment until the walls vibrate. But Cooper is too nervous to think about angry neighbors. He mechanically responds to request to "Pass the salad" and "I am out of wine!" between staring intently at Blaine's hands, which remain clutched in his lap. At first, Blaine tried to eat, but his hands shook too much. When Blaine presses his fork into the table beside his plate, Cooper flashbacks to a night so very long ago when a thirteen-year-old Blaine announced to their parents that he was gay. He remembers the surge of pride and unconditional adoration he felt then. Reaching out to wrap Blaine's fist in his hand, Cooper thinks "It's only gotten stronger since."<p>

With every passing moment, Clare grows progressively more restless. Beside her, Rachel has schooled her features into an expression of calm, chewing on small, equal forkfuls of salad and exuding unnatural self-control. But her eyes are unfocused and her lip trembles whenever she looks over the table at Blaine. Clare does not have Rachel's training and fails to even project a sense of calm. She is torn between lunging across the table and dragging Cooper and Blaine far away, or surging up and screaming "Just do it! Do it already!"

Dinner starts winding down after three bottles of wine and several tons of food. The rush to consume mellows into slow digestion and conversation gives way to heavy sighs murmurs of approval.

"Damn, I am so fucking full!" Kevin announces as he leans back from the table. "I'm just gonna sit here and process. Seriously, Blaine, that was damn delicious."

Everyone lazily nods their heads and mumble agreement. But the compliments barely penetrate Blaine's mind. He knows that it's time. His eyes find Cooper and his breathing speeds up. Clutching Cooper's hand he tries to draw some calm from the familiar feeling of Cooper's palm, but the terror is just too deep. Now or never. Words catch in his throat and come out as a strangled moan. It's time.

"Actually," Cooper starts, his eyes never leaving Blaine's face, "there's a reason we asked you to come. There is something Blaine and I want you to know. And many of you won't like it." Sweeping his gaze across the table, he lets himself look into the nervous, worried faces of their friends. It might be the last time he sees them. "We're brothers."

* * *

><p>It's one o'clock. The room is pillaged. A shattered glass lies in a pool of wine. An overturned chair cowers by the wall. The air is heavy with panting breaths and shouted slurs, of heated glares and broken whispers. In the thickness of the anger, frustration, disappointment and betrayal still hanging in the room, the apartment is still. The air can't move, it is so swollen with tears.<p>

Blaine's hand cups his chin, long fingers pressed into his mouth. It has been frozen there since the last hitching, strangled sob. His cheeks are sticky with a sheen of drying salt, the skin stretched taut and pleasantly painful. If he can focus on this growing discomfort, he can lose the throb of heartache. His eyes trace patterns in dust tacked to the floor molding, reminding himself to grab a wet towel before going to sleep. And they were almost out of olive oil. Yes, he should buy some tomorrow. _Keep thinking, keep thinking so you can't remember. _But running from the memories of those two hours is useless. They are etched into room, expressed in the hap-hazard arrangement of the plates, in the chairs left at odd angles, and in the suffocating silence that presses into ears that ring with yelling voices. This room was a war-zone, and now it overflows with ghosts of battle.

His eyes clench shut against memories of Jack's face, twisted and contorted into a sickened grimace.

_Cooper's voice settles on attentive ears. Blaine eyes stay focused on his lap, unable to overcome a paralyzing fear. It is story he knows very well, but had heard told only once before, just several days ago over scones and biscuits. Listening to Cooper, Blaine tries to imagine hearing it told by their friends – what would he think hearing such a confession? The words "brothers, brothers, brothers" keep ringing in his ears. They sound so odd, applied to Cooper and himself. Were they really brothers? How odd. When Cooper finishes, collapsing into his chair and automatically seeking comfort in Blaine's hand, the living room sucks in a collective breath. In retrospect, those moments were a vacuum, the air sucked dry, before an explosion to rival the Big Bang. Jack is the first to respond. _

"_Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you?" _

_His girlfriend, Penny, tries to interrupt, but he yanks his hand out of her grip. "No, stop! Did you hear them? They are fucking __**brothers**__! Or should I say 'fucking brothers'," he said with a derisive snort._

_By then, others have found their voice. David, the ever rational and problem-solving David, jumps in with questions, "But how? How did this happen? When! And why did you let it get so far?"_

_Penny has managed to hold onto Jack with one hand, the other running soothing circles up and down his back. "Maybe you didn't know that you were brothers? Were you adopted?" No matter how silly the question sounds, the room falls silent and awaits their answer. As if were their relationship unintentionally incestuous, it would give them a loophole to forgive and forget._

"_No." Blaine's voice is oddly quiet compared to the raised voices of their friends. "We've always known."_

_The clatter of a chair brings Blaine's gaze up – Jack has jumped up, knocking the chair backwards. "No. That's…that's...how could you? He's your brother! You've been fucking your brother up the ass?" He advances on Cooper, his eyes ablaze and his face twisted. "You're a piece of shit. You are the reason people are against gay marriage. And every time I heard people say, let gays marry, and you might as well legalize incest, and bestiality, and all sorts of shit, I thought – bullshit! People don't do that! Normal people can't do that! But you've been lying to us?" _

"_Hey, this is not about you, Jack!" Clare jumps in. "This is not about your pride. What, you feel duped? Yes, they didn't tell us, but we all know why. So shut the fuck up. If you can't handle it, leave."_

_The battle-lines are drawn. Now, it was time to draw the armies. Jack twists to overlook the table. "Oh, so I'm the only one who thinks it's sick? What the fuck is wrong with all of you! This is incest! It doesn't matter who it is, incest is wrong! Are you really planning to look the other way, just 'cause it's 'Cooper and Blaine'?"_

"_It's against the Lord's law." Penny is quiet as she mumbles into her chest. "Deuteronomy 27:22." _

"_It's against the law-law," pipes in Kevin. "Pretty freakin' sure incest is outlawed. So this is sick, and illegal." _

"_Guys, we're talking about Cooper and Blaine. Our friends," Jake tries to bring some calm and perspective. "They have been our friends since the beginning of time. They love each. Does it matter that they're brothers? It's not like they can reproduce. And we know that they're good for each other. Six years! How many of us can say we've managed to make a relationship last that long?"_

"_It should've lasted a day! An hour! It never should have started! The family is sacred. You don't fuck with that. Literally!" Kevin downs the rest of his wine with a rattled shake of his head. _

"_And how do we know when it started? They could've been fucking since childhood." Jack's gaze grows darker. "Tell me Cooper, were you Blaine's first? Did his voice even break when you first fucked his virgin ass?" _

_Cooper jumps up so fast, he overturns a wine glass. It shatters on the floor. "Get out. Get the fuck out of our house." His growl is punctuated by Blaine's sob. Resting a hand on Blaine's shoulder, Cooper stares down one of his oldest friends. "I said, get the fuck out of here."_

"_Cooper, you're out of your mind. You know this is wrong! What are you doing!" Jack ties to approach, but the air around Cooper crackles with danger._

"_Penny, take your boyfriend and get him out of here while his face is still whole." _

"_Dude, Cooper's no pedophile. Come on, calm down." Kevin tries to cool the boiling exchange, clapping a hand on Jack's shoulder. _

"_He can calm down outside." Cooper steps away from the table and flings open the door. Penny scrambles to collect her things before grabbing onto Jack's forearm and tugging him to the door. Passing by Cooper, she looks up and earnestly pleads "May the Lord have mercy on your souls."_

_Their departure leaves the room suspended in tension. Blaine is the first to break. "He never…he never hurt me. I came to him. Coop, he didn't want this. I came to him." His eyes plead everyone to understand. "This isn't something twisted. We just," his voice breaks in a sob, "we love each other. We can't stop." _

_Cooper falls to his knees by Blaine's chair. Their eyes lock and Blaine's lips tremble. "I love you; I love you so much. And I am so sorry this happened!" He collapses into Cooper's arms, digging his fingers into his shoulder blades and holding on. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Cooper guides his hands across Blaine's back, trying to sooth rattling sobs. "It's alright, sweetheart. Everything's gonna be alright. As long as we're together, it is all alright." _

_But nothing is alright. _

_Soon after Jack's departure, Kevin grabs his backpack off the floor and heads for the door. "There are some lines you do not cross. Love's not a cleanser – it doesn't give you the right to do wrong and claim it's right. This might make me a shitty friend, but I can't be ok with something that has been wrong since ancient times. What's fucked up is fucked up, love or not."_

"_Jesus, who made him judge and jury?" Matt speaks for the first time after the echo of the door shutting on Kevin's back. "And why does he care? It's not his brother you're fucking." _

"_But you can't deny – this is weird." David is still deep in thought. _

_Michaela switches seats to reach over for Blaine. "Honey, I am going to go now." He gives her a tearful nod. "But I will be back. I'll call you. I just need some time. This is all so new and I can't process it with all the yelling and the crying and the door-slamming." She pulls him into a hug and whispers, "I love you. Stay strong."_

_David announces that he has to get up early to get to the station, and helps Michaela shrug into her coat. Before heading for the door, he stiffly holds out his hand. It takes Cooper a moment to register the gesture as a hand-shake. The formality surprises him, but he appreciates the thought. At least not all their ties are severed._

The only guests left in the room are Clare, Jake, Matt, and Rachel. Blaine feels drained and sleepy, his breath occasionally hitching on a sob. The room dips into silence - there's nothing left to say.

Over the next half hour, Blaine crawls on to the couch and fixates on the floor. Clare and Rachel make half-hearted efforts to clean up, but the sounds of clinking plates and jingling utensils sounds offensive in the oppressive quiet. It feels like mourning – they've lost friends, probably forever. Matt is the only one who seems to take it all in stride. His philosophy of "nothing really matters" comes in handy in situations of deep ambiguity.

He is the first to interrupt the deadly quiet. "So you knew?" he asks, turning to Jake. "You seem too calm for someone who's just found out."

"Yeah. We found out by accident. Last week."

Rachel feels a pinch of guilt. If she hadn't come. If she hadn't told.

"Listen," Matt turns his chair with a loud screech to look at Blaine. "Fuck 'em. You've got what you need. And all you need is each other. Don't make things more complicated than they are. It's simple; you love each other, right? That's it – it's just that simple." He gets up and plops by Blaine's feet. "I'm gonna have to head out, but before I do, I've gotta say, telling us was damn brave. Damn stupid, but damn brave. Now you can surround yourself with people who know. I get it. It hurts now, but it will get better. And when it does, it will be pure, and genuine. Not like before. Before, everything good about your life depended on lies and secrets. Now, you can be free."

Blaine pushes himself off the couch to hug their friends farewell. Clare and Rachel cling to him, trying to push strength and comfort through the embrace. Matt makes plans to meet up with Cooper for beers and Jake agrees to join on the condition they go to the new Belgian ale place down in Village. When the door shuts, sealing Blaine and Cooper, they sag into each other against the wall and hold on until their tears run dry.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Blaine wakes up alone. His face is buried in Cooper's pillow, but the sheets are cold. Through the disorientation of unexpected consciousness, Blaine registers the sounds of running water and banging pots. Blinking scratches his eyelids against the contacts he neglected to remove the night before. He groans against the sensation and the vivid sunshine flooding their bedroom. White sheets gleam in the light, and Blaine feels a stab of fierce irritation.<p>

Moving against his will, he drops his feet to the floor. With a yawn and a light pat to his belly, Blaine stumbles into the hallway with a half a mind to drag Cooper back to bed. But the sight of their living room stops him cold. A rush of wakefulness and complete awareness sweeps dread and fright into his heart.

Chairs. Table. Mess of plates. Spilled wine. Shattered glass.

"Damn, I'd hoped you'd sleep for another hour."

Cooper is standing over the sink, elbows deep in soapy water. When he leans against the counter, riveretes of greasy bubbles snake down his forearms. The sight of him, half-naked, dressed in grey sweats that hang loosely over his hips, lightly bathed in morning glow and standing, strong and grounded in the middle of a nuclear epicenter…he had never loved and desired his lover, his partner, and his husband more.

"Scoot over."

Plate by plate, fork by fork, they pick up the remnants of last night's disaster. Fingers brush against each other in fleeting touches, lips press kisses into shoulders and strong arms come to wrap around a muscled back. The morning passes in cleansing reassurance.

* * *

><p>The weekend comes and goes. They leave their apartment once, and it's to pick up Chinese takeout at the corner. There is a sense of urgent privacy, a need to scrub the word "brothers" from their home and from their skin. By the time Monday breaks through their bedroom window, Blaine is nearly giddy for fresh-air and the sight of New York.<p>

The city honks and buzzes. Its streets are freshly painted with light and shadow. Under the soles of Blaine's shoes, the pavement stretches across the island, connecting him to fourteen people who know. He tests the thought out again, _they know_. Nothing. No trepidation, no fear. _They know, and it doesn't matter._ His chest swells with a deep inhale of perfection.

* * *

><p>Days speed past Blaine's notice. There are mornings, and coffees, and errands; there are lunches, and evenings, and long, heavy silences as they share a bed, but not a life. Something has cracked, leaving a yawning gap splitting them apart. Cooper sinks into his work, disappearing for days into a Manhattan high-rise and returning without having lived the day. It is so easy to dissolve into the energy of New York, living vicariously to its busy, buzzing beat. <em>Unintentioned living<em>. Blaine names the state of his existence, unintentioned living – a minimal consciousness. With every day, the bubble of the mundane and lackluster grows stronger, fogging his eyes and sapping the very air he breathes of a personality. Below the haze beats a steady heartbeat of fear; he's drowning, and he's watching Cooper drown.

Cooper stumbles through the door, his eyes unfocused and his mind unclear.

"How was your day?"

A grunt. "Yours?"

"Same."

They reheat left-overs. They've turned to mush, and Blaine has to struggle to remember what meal they originally comprised. He thinks it was a ragu. Or was it the pasta sauce? The first fork-full tastes bland. So does the second, and the last. Before he processes cleaning the dishes, it's time for bed. The sheets are cold against his skin, and he tries to convince himself that it's refreshing even as he shivers. They speak so rarely now, Cooper's voice scratches on his dry throat as he whispers "Good night."

The Anderson home is stale with apathy, but the only thing to break through it is a love too strong to dull. Blaine knows that they've been damaged, but he'll be damned before they break.

* * *

><p>In the morning, Blaine's eyes spring open. An inhale brings fresh, crisp air into his lungs, and he feels clear and light for the first time in weeks. His gaze dashes to the window, where morning beams into the room in even streaks of sunlight. Everything, He feels everything, and everything is new. Eagerly, his eyes settle on the curve of Cooper's spine as it gently dips under the sheets. His hand shakes with the urge to touch, to splay his fingers on the skin that has been warmed by hours of sleep and sink into the loose muscles relaxed by rest. But he resists and feels so young – like a teenager reaching out for the first touch of nakedness. It makes him giddy, elated by a new joy. It feels like inspiration.<p>

Pressing himself into the mattress, he slowly wiggles his way to the edge. Once he can safely stand, Blaine oozes from under the blankets. He flips the notebook he keeps by his bedside to a blank page and quickly scribbles:

_Morning honey,_

_I love you. We haven't said that in too long. I love you, with all my heart. Good morning! I love you. When I get back, I will tell you that again and again. But for now I am running out for coffee. Have an amazing day at the office and call me on your way from work – I love you!_

_Yours,_

_Blaine_

He lays the note on his pillow, a bright smile tugging at his cheeks. It feels so silly, and it's exactly why he does it.

Grabbing a handful of clothes, he slips into the living room and quickly changes into a pair of sweats and an NYU t-shirt. The only difference between his current outfit and his PJs is that these sweats haven't been slept in that night. But it doesn't matter – there is a force, a purpose, propelling him out the door, and he is eager to meet it, fulfill it, embrace it. With a clang of his keys and a swoosh of the door, he is out of the house and into the light.

* * *

><p>The heat of the ceramic seeps into his palm. Blaine takes immense pleasure from the sensation – he's far from cold (it's hard to be cold anywhere in the city this time of the year), but after being numb for so long, there's a delight in feeling anything. The coffee swirls with dark browns and light crèmes. He feels elated. With every sounds, every sight, every deep breath of <em>presence<em>, he brims with joy. Something that had been broken had mended in the night, that chasm filled with a certainty that he would find a way to put them back together.

He knows it was that dinner. That stupid, crazy, _why did we do that_ dinner. It seems so ridiculous now! Sifting through his memories, Blaine resists the urge to laugh and his face settles into a deep smirk. How funny! How senseless! All that pain, all that hurt – why? Where is the tragedy? The Cooper and Blaine who gathered a room full of people and dropped an incest-bomb on their heads seem endearingly foolish from Blaine's perch of hind-sight. And the reactions! He snorts on his coffee with irresistible laughter. Their faces, so contorted with rage and desperation, over what? A consensual, loving relationship that brings joy and simple domestic bliss? Ridiculous. He wipes a few stray tears of laughter – it's hard to take any of this seriously. How seriously can you take a contest between a love, strong and pure, and petty bewilderment.

And yet, they let them win. He and Cooper capitulated! With their apologizes and tears, with their anxiety and hopes of _forgiveness_ and _understanding_. No! There is nothing to forgive or understand – nothing about their relationship requires an apology. They love each other. They_**love**_each other. Who doesn't get that, move along. The only tragedy of that night is that they caved. They let those words of hurt and hate ring in their ears, until they sank into a pit of nothing. He can't remember the last time he held Cooper's hand, the last time he whispered "love you"s into his skin, the last time he sank onto his cock and heard the slap of skin on sweat. _Damn it, we let them win! We let them change us!_

He's on his feet and out the door. There's someone he needs to see.

* * *

><p>The CBS building is an unremarkable structure on the southwest corner of Central Park. As he waits for the light to change on Columbus Circle, Blaine's heart pounds in his chest, a running script echoes in his ears until the mantra is not words but a sensation.<p>

He approaches the front desk without his usual tentativeness. "I need to speak to David Burke."

"I'm sorry, sir, but you need an appointment to go up there." The woman is common beauty – long, blond hair and a generic smile. Blaine lets himself enjoy a moment a judgment at how ordinary she's become by trying to fit in.

"Just give him a call. Tell him Blaine Anderson is here to see him."

Nervous energy escapes him in rapid clicks of his heel against the floor. He is alert to every muddled phone call, to every scuffing shoe, as he waits for David. In several minutes, he sees David's suit flash through a sea of grey.

"Hey, Blaine!" David's face can't settle on an expression – fluidly morphing from concern, apology and guilt. Above all, he looks uncomfortable. "Now is really not a good time. I wish you'd call before dropping in." Finally, the accusation gives his facial muscles the right to contort in frustration. "Why didn't you call?"

"Because I knew what you'd say." David seems taken aback. In all honesty, so is Blaine. He'd never felt so sure, so right, as he does now. His usual sweetness and self-deprecation give way to certainty and purpose. "This won't take long."

The door-handle is somewhat warm in his hand, having absorbed the ambient heat of the afternoon and casual touches of passers-by. Propping the door with his heel, Blaine glances back to David. "Let's go."

The streets chatter with lunch-time gossip. Blaine turns in the direction of a coffee-shop he saw on his way to the station, weaving his way through the suited crowd.

"Really, Blaine. No-now's not, maybe we could – how about tomorrow, or – oh, excuse me, maybe Thursday? 'Cause I have to get back – you know, to the office. Oh, sorry!" David buffets against oncoming traffic as he hurries to keep up with Blaine's brisk pace. Before he has a chance to convince Blaine to postpone, he finds himself face-to-face with an open Starbucks door.

Once they are seated with two steaming cups of medium dip coffee, David tries again. "No, it's great to see you. What's it been, a couple of days now?"

"Two weeks."

"Right." He fiddles with the lid. "So, as I was saying, it's good to see you again. But now, right now, it just isn't the right time. So much shit to get done! You know what they say, news never-"

"Why does it matter?" Blaine's interruption catches David off guard.

"Sorry, why does what matter?"

"The 'brothers' thing. Why does it matter? I know it does. I mean, we would've told everyone years ago if it didn't. But why does it?"

Instead of answering, David pops the lid and tears open a couple packets of sugar. He watches them sink, dissolving and disappearing into the dark abyss. "Why did you have to be brothers? Why brothers? Of all the people." He sighs, as if he were the parent of a disappointing teen. "Listen…"

"No, I didn't come here to listen. What can you possibly have to say? Your silence for the past two weeks did all the talking. I came here to tell you something." Blaine eyes pierce David's wandering gaze. "I love him. Do you know how hard that is? To love anyone? We are all looking for it, searching for it, and you know why so few find it? Cause we're looking in all the wrong places. We are looking for love in places of joy and bliss, where the sun is bright and the air is warm. But love lives in a place of hurt – it scrubs you raw and leaves you naked. Nothing leaves you so vulnerable, so defenseless. But, fuck it's worth it. Because it breathes a new life into your lungs, it gives your every moment meaning, purpose, because you live to keep that love alive. You live for that beautiful, fluttering, fragile knowledge that your heart beats in celebration of another soul. It changes you.

"I've loved Cooper all my life. But I _knew _the moment I fell in love with him. Because, until that moment, I loved him, but that love was in me. A part of me, inseparable and instinctive. When I fell in love with him, that love became a thing, a tangible presence so much bigger than myself. It _is._ It's not a choice, it is a fact. It's not something that I do, or can choose to undo, because it simply exists. And he loves me, and I know that. Not because he tells me, or shows me, but because his love for me is a presence in our lives and in our home.

"We live our love, and no one can tell us that we can't. Because it's not a choice. And I am glad, and grateful, that we are brothers. We had the strength to fall in love. We never assumed that it would be easy, we knew how much it hurt, how much we'd lose. But we thought that it that was just 'cause we're brothers. No, all love is just like that – with pain and sacrifice. We're no different than any couple, just more lucky. We never thought that love was easy, so we never looked for it in the wrong place. We found it in each other."

* * *

><p>Cooper wakes up with the sensation of falling asleep. Blinking his eyes against the morning light reveals a world much duller than his dreams. Nothing is vivid, no lines are sharp. A yawn and a deep stretch bring lukewarm air into his throat. Something crisp and cool brushes against his forearm. Where's Blaine? He glances to the pillow next to his, but the bed is empty and the sheets are cold. With effort, Cooper focuses his sleepy eyes on the something tickling his arm - it's a note. My god, when was the last time they left each other notes? It must have been at least six years. Back when living together was an innovation, before a cursory text message was enough. Pushing himself back to lean against the pillows, he squints to make out Blaine's handwriting.<p>

_I love you. _I love you. _I love you. _I love you. _I love you. _I love you. _I love you. _I love you.________

His heart swells with a breath of freshness. Blaine loves him. Blaine_ loves_ him. The thought leaves him gasping for air. How could he let things get so bad? How could he let Blaine live in this haze for weeks?

Sprinting from the bed, he calls out, "Blaine? Blaine, honey? You home?" but there's no answer. Blaine must still be out, when did he leave this message? His hands shake with the urge to grab Blaine, to pull him close and whisper "sorry"s. A burst of energy burns his veins - he needs Blaine! He needs to say, _I love you_ and _I'm sorry, I let them touch me, I let them touch us. The doubts, the guilt, I let them back into my mind. I thought of "us" with shame, and for that I'm sorry! _But the words echo in his mind, and there's no one to hear them.

* * *

><p>It's quiet. Completely silent. The table, the café, and the city dare not breathe. But no, the city clangs and clatters, and the café is bursting at the seams. The din lifts from Blaine's ears, inviting all the sounds he's blocked to knock into his perception. The coffee orders, the ringing phone, the scratching chairs against the floor. He lifts his eyes to David's face, and he sees tears. They well under his eyelids and mist his sight.<p>

"I'm sorry." David's lip shudders on a sob. He hands come to grasp Blaine's on the table, as he stutters, "I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. I can't-, I don't-,god damn it, Blaine, how could I! What gave me the right?" He lifts his eyes and brings Blaine's hand, still clutched between his hands, up to his lips. Between light kisses to Blaine's palm, he whispers, "I wanted to tear you apart. I thought I had the right to break your heart." With a shuddered breath, he looks calm enough to meet Blaine's gaze. "When we met, I wanted to tell you to break up. Tell you to get out while no one knew and try again, with someone else."

"It wouldn't have mattered." Blaine pulls on their clasped hands to draw David's attention. "Don't you see? It doesn't matter whether I'm with Cooper or with someone else. This – thing, between us, it will always be there. It's bigger than we are and it will outlast us both. Love is eternal."

After drying his eyes and clearing his nose, David looks even less put together. His face is flushed, his cheeks are swollen, and his nose could light a room. "Well, there's no way I'm going back to the office now," he laughs.

"What about all that important shit you need to get done?"

"The talent can make their own goddamn coffee." They share a smile and return to their own cups of the revitalizing liquid. "Listen," Blaine offers, "how 'bout you come over this weekend. Cooper and Jake will be drinking beer all night, and I need someone to class up the place – bring a bottle of Syrah and we'll have our own party."

Before David answers, Blaine's phone buzzes with an incoming text. "Speak of the devil," he mutters at seeing Cooper's name on the screen.

**12:14**

**Cooper: **I love you. Come home. We need to talk.

* * *

><p>As ever, thank you for reading. If you have the time and the motivation, please review!<p> 


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